


Between These Walls We Must Unite

by Ciridae



Series: Bonds That Build, Bonds That Break [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Philosopher's Stone, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin Hermione, Slytherin Ron, Slytherin Trio, You can pry this cliche from my cold dead hands, first year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:19:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9205772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciridae/pseuds/Ciridae
Summary: Slytherin house welcomes a newly-returned savior, the last male Weasley, and the most precocious muggleborn to grace its halls for a few centuries.





	1. Chapter One

 This was really happening. 

   Harry Potter stood on Platform 9 3/4 in awe of the crowds. His hands were shaking slightly where they rested against his trolley.  _This was real_. He had been partially convinced it was a dream. A vivid one, one that left trunks at the end of his bed (his bed! In his bedroom! That was still a surprise most mornings). A dream that left owls at his windows. But a dream nonetheless.

   And now he stood on a platform that shouldn't exist and watched people board the Hogwarts Express.

   "You all right there?"

   Harry snapped out of his thoughts and turned to the speaker. Red-headed and freckled, the boy was around his age--one of the family that had helped him through the barrier. Harry shrugged, a little embarrassed to be caught woolgathering. 

    "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied. "There's more people than I expected." 

    The other boy smiled in understanding. "It's worse than Diagon Alley here, honestly. You'd think they'd get used to sending their kids to Hogwarts." Pausing, he looked down at his hands before back up at Harry. "I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley." 

   "Harry Potter," Harry replied, turning his attention back to the crowd. He missed Ron's slight gasp and his glance to where Harry's scar was covered by fringe. 

   Several people in the crowd had obviously made an attempt at 'normal' clothing and failed miserably. Others hadn't even tried. The men in robes would look more at home in a Renaissance painting than a train station in London, or at least in a church. Women tended to wear robes that looked more like dresses, at least--but there was one woman who, it seemed, had live flowers growing out of her dress. Another had what looked like an entire vulture on her hat and Harry couldn't quite decide if it was alive or dead. He didn't really want to know either. The sheer noise of the place was overwhelming between families saying farewell, friends catching up with each other, and the train emitting smoke and noise.

   "Come on, we should board," Ron said, dragging Harry's attention back to him. "Wouldn't want to be left behind." 

   Harry followed the other boy (and his impressive collection of brothers) towards the train, frowning. "Would they really do that? Leave someone behind, I mean?" 

   "Oh, they would," came the reply from one of the older redheads. 

    "Especially if you've failed some classes," continued another. The two were exact replicas of each other, which was rather confusing. "Wouldn't want slackers at good old Hogwarts, now would we?" 

    "Oh, no, of course not," responded the first brother. "no slackers, pranksters, tricksters, or lackadaisical students of any kind at Hogwarts." 

   Ron rolled his eyes as his brothers burst out into laughter. "Fred and George," he said, giving Harry a look like the names should mean something to him. "Don't listen to them. I'm sure they wouldn't leave someone behind. Let's go grab a compartment." 

   They found themselves an empty compartment towards the end of the train and settled in. Ron introduced Harry to his rat, a pathetic looking thing called Scabbers, and Harry properly introduced Hedwig. As the train started to move their compartment door slid open to reveal a bushy-haired girl in prim clothing. She glanced around the compartment and then slid the door open a bit wider. 

   "Mind if I sit with you?" she asked, taking a tentative step inside. "I'm Hermione Granger." 

   "Sure," Harry said, smiling slightly at her. "I'm Harry, this is Ron." 

   "Nice to meet you," Ron said, not looking up from whatever Scabbers was doing. Hermione looked at him almost as if she wanted to argue that it was not, in fact, nice to meet him, but simply sat down instead. 

   "Pleasure," she replied, before turning to Harry. "You wouldn't happen to be Harry Potter, would you?" 

    "That's me," Harry said. "How'd you know?"

   "You're in several books. You're really quite famous," Hermione said. "If I were you I'd read them, best know what they're writing about you."

   "People are writing about me? Can't imagine they've got a lot to say. I'm not very interesting." 

   "There's plenty to write about!" Ron said, looking scandalized. "You only defeated the most powerful dark wizard in memory and then disappeared from the wizarding world. Not to mention surviving the killing curse." 

   Harry shrugged. "It's not like a really did anything. I was a baby. Probably slept through the whole thing." 

   "That's what most people are writing about, actually," Hermione said. "Or, at least the ones worth reading. They discuss how exactly you did it, and possible ways to replicate it. The theory is quite interesting." She frowned at Ron. "Is that a rat in your lap?" 

   "Yeah, this is Scabbers," Ron said. He lifted Scabbers up and held him out for Hermione's inspection as the poor rat tried to wriggle free. "Pathetic, isn't he? Used to be my brother Percy's." 

   Hermione leaned back slightly. "I'm not fond of rats, actually," she replied, effectively stopping the conversation. "They're not as common of pets in the muggle world."

    Ron put Scabbers back on his lap and the three lapsed into an awkward silence. Harry considered asking about Hermione's family and how she came to know about magic but stopped himself. Those sorts of questions would lead to the Dursleys and things better left unsaid. Just as the silence was becoming unbearable the door opened again. All three of them turned to see who it was, grateful for the distraction. A small boy with pale skin and hair stood in the doorway, obviously a bit surprised by the scrutiny. 

   "I heard Harry Potter was on the train," the boy said. "Would any of you happen to have seen him?"

   "Sure mate," Ron said, grinning. "He's right there." He pointed at Harry who sighed and rolled his eyes. He was already over this whole 'famous' thing.

   The boy looked Harry over, obviously disapproving. Harry resisted the urge to fidget or look away. His black hair was constantly a bird's nest and his skin was naturally darker than the Dursley's and freckled anywhere the sun touched. Wearing Dudley's cast-offs didn't help either. Harry knew he wasn't anything impressive to look at. The other boy was dressed in a very nice looking sweater and grey pants that actually fit and it looked like he had combed his hair back. The kid kind of looked like a prat, but a prat that could afford good clothes. 

   "Well," the boy finally said, "are you Harry Potter? Show me your scar." 

   Frowning, Harry almost refused. Hermione had given a snort at the other boy's rudeness. The boy was being a bit of a berk and his rich clothing put Harry off. But he gave in and lifted his fringe, the odd lightning bolt scar clearly visible against his skin. It wasn't pretty, starting in his hair and spreading across his face to frame his one eyebrow and mark his temple. Harry kept his bangs long enough to fall in his eyes so that nobody could see his scar by accident.

   "I'm Draco Malfoy," the boy said after an awkward moment. "If you fancy having more...appropriate companionship on the ride, I'm only a few compartments forward." Malfoy shot a significant glance at Ron, who was trying to get Scabbers to eat some of his corned beef sandwich. Hermione didn't even warrant a glance. Malfoy waited another moment then turned and left, followed by two larger boys who had been hidden in the hallway. 

   "That was odd," Harry finally said after a moment. 

   "Not really," Hermione replied, shrugging. "His family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. He probably just thinks you can do better than...well, us."

   "But I don't want to do better," Harry said, surprised. Hermione and Ron exchanged a  _look_. 

   "Harry," Hermione started in her best, most patient teacher voice, "You're  _famous._ And a pureblood. Or at least a half-blood from a pureblood family. That comes with a whole set of rules and traditions to follow. Everyone's going to want to know you and say they're you're friend."

   "Yeah mate. You're  _Harry Potter_! The Boy-Who-Lived. My  mum used to tell us stories about you defeating You-Know-Who at bedtime. My sister loved them."

   Harry blushed, glad his tanned skin hid some of it. "I'm nothing special," he mumbled. Desperate for a change of topic, he turned to Hermione. "What is the Sacred Twenty-Eight, anyway?"

   Hermione gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing but humored him anyway. "Twenty-eight English families that have no muggle blood in them. Or, at least, no muggle blood in the main family line; squibs generally get adopted out or abandoned. Anyone marrying a muggleborn tends to be from a smaller branch. Your family isn't there but in the _Annals of Pure-blooded Families of the Worlde_ , although you're listed as a half-blood in the latest edition. Your parents broke the tradition of marrying only purebloods. Not that that matters in any case."

   "My family is one of them too," Ron said. "Prats like Malfoy call us blood traitors but we're still in there somehow."

   "The person who made the list last century was really biased, or so I've read. And it doesn't even matter if someone has muggle blood or is muggleborn. Either you have magic or you don't. Simple as that." 

   "It matters sometimes," Ron said. "At least if you want to do anything in politics. You-Know-Who was really anti-muggle my dad says but the Ministry is mostly pure-bloods and their cronies."

   "Only because of the intense prejudice against muggleborns," Hermione shot back, leaning forward in her seat. "If pure-bloods weren't so high and mighty maybe muggleborns would want to involve themselves more. Honestly, some of the books I read talked about muggles as if they were barely better than animals!"

   "What books are you reading?" Harry asked, trying to derail the argument he sensed brewing. Hermione's raised voice was putting him on edge.

   "Just some books on recent wizarding history," Hermione said. "A few on pure-blood traditions and some magical theory books. Oh, and all our Hogwarts textbooks, of course!"

    "Of course," Harry said weakly, thinking of his own textbooks. He hadn't done anything more than write his name in them and glance at the introductions. Teaching himself to write with a quill had taken most of his precious free time; he'd wanted to write a thank-you note to Hagrid for the day in Diagon Alley. And apparently wizards were too classy for normal biros so quills it was. 

   The discussion turned towards Hogwarts and what could be expected of them. Ron was convinced they'd have to fight a troll for a place in the school, which Hermione found ridiculous. Discussion of their classes brought excitement from Hermione, curiosity from Harry, and tired acceptance from Ron. When the food trolley rolled by Harry bought enough of everything to share much to the trolley lady's delight. Ron eagerly traded some of his mum's sandwiches for some candy. Even Hermione ate a few pieces after sighing over the danger to her teeth.

   Soon enough it was time to change into their Hogwarts robes and disembark. In the great mill of people and noise it was almost laughably easy to hear Hagrid calling for "Firs' years! Firs' years over to me!" They made their way to the giant man, dodging reunited frieds and other new students. Harry caught sight of Malfoy a little ways away, the boy appeared to be scolding a few others. Generally unpleasant, Harry decided. He'd make sure to avoid Malfoy every chance he got.

   "How ye doin' there, 'Arry? All right?" Hagrid boomed as he caught sight of them. Harry grinned up at the giant man.

   "I'm good!"

   "Good, good! Jus' wait here a mo, gotta make sure I got all of yeh," Hagrid said. "Firs' years! Firs' years this way!" 

   Soon enough the platform cleared off, leaving Hagrid and the first years in a small group. Hagrid led them down a small path paved in worn grey stones. As they emerged from the trees Hagrid paused, watching the first years get their first look at Hogwarts.

   The castle was stunning, impossible. Ramparts pierced the sky and the windows glowed with a light not made by electricity. In the fading daylight, with the stars just beginning to show in the sky and with the soft noises of the wind and other awed students around him, Harry realized it didn't matter if this was a dream. If it was, he decided, he wasn't waking up for anything in the world. 

   


	2. Chapter 2

   The castle was even more impressive the closer they got, growing in their minds and hearts as they approached. Inside the grey marble floors were polished to a soft shine from years of students and professors walking over them. Portraits hung all over the walls and the inhabitants talked and moved, following the first years from frame to frame. Their footsteps echoed; a small group of eleven-year-olds couldn't hope to fill this space. Even with Hagrid helping.

   At the bottom of a small set of stairs they were met by an intimidating woman wearing dark robes and a tartan shawl. She looked as if the years had whittled away any extra pieces she may have once had, leaving only what was most important and most powerful behind. The first years arranged themselves a few steps below her, leaving a sizable gap between them and her. 

   "I am Professor McGonagall," she said, her eyes sweeping over the small crowd. "Deputy Headmistress here at Hogwarts as well as your Transfiguration professor, as some of you already know. Momentarily, you will be led into the Great Hall where you will be Sorted into your Houses." 

   At this announcement a small rash of whispers broke out. McGonagall let them go on for a few moments before silencing them all with a look. Harry carefully avoided her gaze. She reminded him of a much more intimidating Petunia Dursley.

   "The four Houses are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Your Head of House will be your guardian during your stay at Hogwarts, your House your family. You can earn points for good behavior and grades and lose points for disrespectful behavior." Her eyes swept over them again, no doubt already finding several troublemakers. "Please form two lines. Boys on the left, girls on the right. If I remember correctly there should be an even number this year." 

   The students carefully paired off and lined up. Harry grabbed Hermione's arm before Ron could, shooting him an apologetic smile. Ron shrugged and stood next to a small blonde girl. McGonagall gave them a once-over and was apparently satisfied for she turned to the doors behind her and waited. 

   They didn't have to wait for long. The doors swung inward and the students followed McGonagall into the Great Hall. Harry took a deep breath and tried to ignore the curious gazes of the entire student population. There were so many! At least twice as many students at his old primary school, and some of these students were practically adults! He couldn't have imagined there would be this many, not even from the crowd getting on the train. There were only twenty first years after all. Looking upwards he gasped: above the floating candles was the night sky, clear and empty of clouds. The candles and the stars mingled and made a sight that took Harry's breath away.

   "It was enchanted by the Founders," Hermione whispered to him as she followed where he was looking. "It always exactly mimics the sky outside. Nobody really knows how high the ceiling actually is. Read it in _Hogwarts, a History._ "

    Harry looked down, the wondrous ceiling making him slightly uncomfortable. After passing between two of the four great tables the first years came to a stop in front of a table full of adults. The professors and staff Harry assumed. Hagrid hurried past them to take a seat at the end. The huge man looked slightly ridiculous to be surrounded by the much smaller adults and Harry smiled at his giant friend. 

   In front of the professors was a small rickety stool upon which sat a very ugly looking hat. Definitely a witch's hat, or maybe a wizard's. Both male and female students wore similar black hats, after all. The first years weren't wearing their hats although they had to buy one. The hat was all patched up and it was hard to tell what color it had been originally. Harry wondered exactly what purpose the old hat could possibly serve when it moved--and began to sing!

   Stunned, Harry listened to the hat sing, almost missing Hermione's whispered explanation. The Sorting Hat had a rather lovely singing voice, a nice clear tenor. Harry barely caught a word of the song before McGonagall began calling out names. "Abbot, Hannah!" started the sorting, the girl was the one Ron had walked beside. She was soon sorted into Hufflepuff. Harry anxiously waited for his turn and tried to memorize names and faces as they were Sorted.

   "Granger, Hermione!" Professor McGonagall soon called. Hermione squeezed Harry's arm and gave him a quick smile before walking over to the stool. Previous students had been hard to see because the hat, obviously made for an adult, hung low over their faces but not Hermione. Her bushy curls held the hat at bay and Harry could see her expression as she waited.

   To Harry it seemed like an eternity had passed as the hat deliberated. Hermione could be seen to frown, almost scowling, and Harry wondered what was going on. Was Hermione speaking with the thing? Perhaps arguing, at least if her expression was anything to go by. The older students were getting restless, shifting around in their seats. Even a few of the professors were muttering to each other as the hat sat silent on Hermione's head. Harry resisted the urge to fidget and prayed that his Sorting would not be this long. 

   "Slytherin!" the hat suddenly boomed, making half of the Great Hall jump in surprise. Hermione stood, primly replaced the hat on the stool, and made her way over to indicated table. Whispers broke out among the restrained applause (and hisses from the gold-and-red table), but the Sorting was soon under way again and they died down.

   "Potter, Harry!" was eventually called, making Harry jump nervously. The entire hall seemed to gasp before whispers broke out.

   "Potter?" someone said as Harry took a step forward, eyes trained on the seat ahead of him. If he didn't turn his head he could ignore the whispers. 

   "It's him! I knew he would be here this year!" someone else added. A few people were muttering about how he was a "Gryffindor, for sure" and many others were wondering exactly where he had been hiding. Harry took his seat on the stool quickly, his gaze trained on the floor as the hat was placed on his head. The hat's wide brim thankfully blocked the sight of the hall. He wouldn't have to look at the other students.

    _Hmmm, you're an interesting one._  


   Harry stiffened; was that voice inside his head? It sounded similar to the one that had come from the hat earlier during the song. So you could speak to the hat! Magic was obviously the answer to any question Harry might have. 

    _It's good to know you have such faith in magic, Mr. Potter._  


   _"Are you reading my thoughts?"_ Harry resisted the urge to speak, instead trying to attach some sort of  _force_ to his thoughts. However one actually went about doing that. 

    _Only the ones on top_ , the hat replied.  _And you are an interesting one to place, aren't you? Any preference to where you go?_ Harry shook his head--he really didn't care. The hat chuckled in his mind.  _You'd survive in any of them, oh yes. You aren't one to give up just because it becomes hard...although, perhaps not Ravenclaw._  


  
_"Ravenclaw?"_ thought Harry. _"The one in blue and bronze?"_ It was a good thing the school color coded the houses otherwise Harry wouldn't have a chance of keeping them separate. 

    _The very same_ , replied the hat.  _Rowena perhaps would take you in, but it is not the quest for knowledge that burns deep in your heart. Not unless I am wrong, which I rarely am._  


   Harry had no reply for that. His schooling had been rather hit-or-miss, especially when he shared classes with Dudley. And Harry definitely did not enjoy learning for the sake of learning; even at eleven he knew that much about himself. Ravenclaw would not be his House. 

    _Hufflepuff, yes,_ continued the hat.  _You have loyalty enough for there, but the badgers are a particular lot. No stranger to hard work, are you, Mr. Potter?_ The hat chuckled again, a dry, rasping laugh.  _Helga's house would not be home to you, though. Merely a place to live. Let's spare Hufflepuff from you and move on, yes?_  


   The hall was still full of whispers. Barely a minute had passed, nowhere near the amount of time Hermione's Sorting had taken, but Harry was starting to hate every second. The feeling of eyes on him, of being watched and noticed and measured, was unpleasant to say the least. But before he could allow himself to become too anxious the hat continued with its chatter.

    _That leaves Gryffindor and Slytherin. More alike than many realize, Mr. Potter, and many would be surprised at how often it comes down to those two. Bravery you have, and loyalty, and a desire to succeed..._ The hat trailed off and Harry wondered what it had found in his mind to interrupt its thoughts....if the thing even had thoughts.  _Now there is a rare talent. You'd do well in Slytherin with a gift like that. So, Mr. Potter, which will it be? The lions or the snakes?_  


  
_"Where I can survive,"_ was Harry's first thought, quickly followed by another.  _"Wherever I can succeed. I'm tired of just surviving."_ Harry forced his thoughts to stop, hoping that the hat had not picked up on the last thought. 

    _Ambition will bring you many great things,_ was the hat's reply.  _So it better be_ "Slytherin!" 

   Harry jumped as the hat shouted and the Great Hall broke out into more whispers. He carefully removed the hat from his head and returned it to McGonagall before heading to the Slytherin table. Malfoy nodded to him as Harry sat and it seemed as if the boy wanted to say more. Hermione was across from Harry, though, positively glowing with happiness, and Harry decided to ignore Malfoy in favor of her. 

   "We're in the same House!" she exclaimed, drawing glances from all around. "I can't believe it!" 

   Harry smiled weakly back at her. "I'm glad," he said, finding that it was the truth. "Who else is going to whisper answers to all the questions I have?" 

    Hermione laughed and Harry joined in, the shaky adrenaline rush from their Sortings not quite over. They soon fell quiet, though, as the Sorting continued. Malfoy would now and then mutter comments on the various first years getting sorted. Harry and Hermione exchanged a look every time he did--the blonde boy was being rather annoying. 

   McGonagall's call of "Weasley, Ron!" brought Harry's attention back to the Sorting. Ron was pale, his freckles standing out even more than normal. Harry watched, sympathetic, as the hat rested silently on the boy's head. So far this year had been filled with long Sortings--Harry and Hermione, a girl named Susan Bones, another boy named Neville Longbottom, and now Ron. The Sorting Hat was having a bad year it seemed. 

   Finally, just as Harry started to stop paying attention to Ron, the hat straightened up and spoke. "Slytherin!" came the call, and the Great Hall was silent. 

   "I don't think there's ever been a Weasley in Slytherin," one of the older students said as Ron nervously walked over. Malfoy sneered, obviously not impressed. 

   "Are you certain the hat isn't broken? First Potter, now Weasley--both Gryffindor families. Not to mention sorting a  _muggleborn_ into Slytherin. Perhaps the hat has gone senile and believes us to be Gryffindor?" 

   Hermione stiffened and then turned to Malfoy, brown eyes blazing. "I'd shut it if I were you, Malfoy," she hissed, obviously not pleased with him. Several older students were giving him looks as well, obviously annoyed at both his words and how loudly he said them. Hermione turned back to Ron and congratulated him on his Sorting, though, letting the matter drop. Malfoy gaped, but it was now that the Headmaster stood to speak.

    "I am sure we are all eager to eat," the Headmaster began, smiling cheerfully. "Before we do, though, I have a few words to say. And here they are: nitwit, blubber, oddment and tweak!" He let the students think on those words for a few moments before sitting back down. "Please, eat!" 

   And so they did. Harry watched how the older students ate, copying their manners. There was an odd lack of forks on the table--every few spaces would have one or two in the middle but most spaces simply had a very sharp looking knife. Students appeared to use the knife alone as an eating instrument and a spoon when absolutely necessary. After a few tries Harry gave up and reached for one of the forks. Hermione and Ron seemed to have no problem with the knives, which was a bit annoying. 

   "I made sure to practice," Hermione said softly, noticing his predicament. "Traditional wizarding families don't use modern silverware. It wasn't popular in England until the late seventeenth century, and even then it was a bit odd." 

   "Did you have some sort of crash-course for this kind of thing?" Harry asked, serving himself more fruit. "I seemed to have missed it all." 

   "Slytherin is more traditional than the other Houses," was Hermione's reply. They were speaking softly, as if embarrassed to have to be speaking of such things at all. "I'm sure you'll pick it up quickly." 

   "I can help you?" Ron asked, looking up from his plate for the first time. "My family isn't super traditional, but we still got the training. Bloody boring stuff, but worth knowing." 

   Harry looked at him, emotions warring. On the one hand it was embarrassing that he need help at all, on the other he did desperately need help. And where better to get it than Ron? Malfoy certainly didn't seem like he was going to help anytime soon. So, smiling, Harry agreed, and the trio finished their dinner. 

    Dumbledore stood as the last of the puddings vanished. "Now that we have eaten, some reminders: magic is absolutely forbidden in the hallway. Additions to the prohibited objects list, including Fanged Frisbees and several enchanted items, are in effect. The full list can be seen on Mr. Filch's door. The Forbidden Forest remains, as it name would suggest, forbidden to all students. The left-hand, third-floor corridor is also, now, off-limits to all students, on pain of a horrible death."

    He paused, looking around the Great Hall. It seemed as if his cheerful gaze met each student's eyes. "As is traditional, only students third year and above with parental or guardian approval may enter Hogsmeade village on approved days. Students in sixth or seventh year may visit the village on any given day, provided that classes are not in session and their guardians have approved. Welcome, new students and old, to another year at Hogwarts! Let us sing the school song before retiring for the night. Pick your favorite tune and off we'll go!" 

    The students of Hogwarts stood and as the words appeared in golden letters in the air they lifted their voices in song. And so began the Hogwarts school year. 


	3. Chapter 3

   The Slytherin dorms were in the dungeons which came as a bit of a surprise to Harry. The dungeons were cold, after all, and kind of far away from everything else. Harry and Ron were quiet on the walk down, listening to Hermione chatter softly about a variety of things. The girl had seemed to memorize absolutely everything she had ever heard or read about the castle. She had also seemed to decide that they needed to know everything she did. It was interesting but tiring--after such a large meal and the excitement of the Sorting, Harry and Ron were ready to crash. The group of Slytherins stopped in front of what appeared to be just another stretch of wall. There were few portraits this far into the castle's depths and the lanterns along the walls flickered in a way that made Harry uncomfortable. One of the prefects, Gemma Farley, stood at the front of the group and waited for their attention.

   "This is the entrance to the Common Room," she said, after they had sufficiently calmed down. "You can identify it by the twin lanterns on either side: the metal is green and silver and they have snakes etched in them. There is also an Ouroboros on this floor stone. If you get lost ask an older students or the Baron. Do not ask other ghosts or portraits, and do not tell students from other houses our password or the location." She paused, letting this sink in, and then turned to look at the wall. " _Ofslitahn_ ," she stated expectantly, enunciating clearly for her audience. Nothing happened for a moment and then the stones changed, melting away to reveal an arched doorway wide enough for two adults to walk side by side. Farley stepped through and after a second the first years did as well.

   The common room was larger than Harry had expected. The ceilings cleared ten feet and the place was well lit. Green and silver dominated, obviously, but was complimented by faded dark wood floors and light marble walls. Fireplaces that were large enough for a few first years to stand in adorned the walls to either side of the entrance; thick green rugs were placed in front of them. A few tables and desks were scattered throughout. Straight ahead was a staircase that split in two. The wall and ceiling behind the staircase was eerie and transparent, showing the lake bottom. Harry shuddered at the thought of so much water around them and prayed that the magic would hold. 

   "Girl's dorms to the right, boy's to the left," Farley informed them. "You have ten minutes and then we're holding a House meeting. Don't try to enter a dorm that isn't yours, the wards won't allow it." With that she left them to their own devices. 

   Harry and Ron glanced at each other and then made their way to the dormitory. There were seven Slytherin first-year boys and they were divided into two shared bedrooms with a communal bath in between. The color and furniture scheme followed that of the Common Room below although this time the entire floor was carpeted. Slytherin didn't stint on bodily comforts it appeared. Harry located his bed with his trunk at the foot. Each student got a wardrobe and desk as well. 

   "I'm in here with you," Ron said cheerfully, finding his own trunk. "Along with...a 'B.Z' and a 'D.M'." Ron peered at the other two trunks in the room and then groaned. "Bet you 'D.M.' is Malfoy, which is just our luck." 

   "It is just your luck," Malfoy said, walking in. Ron groaned again and flopped on the bed as Malfoy examined the room. "Sharing with a blood-traitor Weasley isn't exactly what I had in mind."

   "Sharing with a blonde prat wasn't what I had in mind," Ron muttered. "But here we are." 

   Harry sat at his desk, sighing. Maybe he could ask for reassignment? Sharing a room with these two was going to be like living in a war zone. It was still worth it for his own bed and desk, though. Before Malfoy or Ron could get another insult in their fourth roommate walked in. 

   "Malfoy," he greeted, nodding. "Potter. Weasley."

   "Zabini." Malfoy returned the nod. Harry studied the other boy, hoping that Zabini was slightly calmer than the other two.

   "Nott, Goyle, and Crabbe have the other room then," Zabini continued. He turned to where Harry and Ron were on their side of the room. "Blaise Zabini, by the way. I don't believe we've ever been formally introduced." 

   Harry nodded, a bit uncomfortable. Ron sat up and gave Zabini a once-over before doing a weird little half-bow. "Ron Weasley," he said, somewhat redundantly. "And no, we haven't been. Can we just skip the whole thing?" 

   "Sure," Zabini replied, relaxing slightly. "Rattling off titles gets a bit boring after a while, anyways." Confused, Harry looked at Ron for an explanation.

   "If we were formally introduced, we'd have to use titles," Ron said. "Unless we were close friends or family. But if we're going to live together it would be annoying." 

   "Especially for you, Potter," Zabini said, smiling thinly. "You've got half a dozen titles at least. Probably outrank most of Slytherin." 

   "What?" Harry asked. "That's ridiculous. Where would I even get titles from?"

   "Do you really not know, Potter?" Malfoy said. "No wonder you wanted to sit with the blood traitor and mudblood. Ignorance is the root of all evil, after all."

   "I thought money was the root of all evil?" Harry said, wondering at Ron. The other boy had stiffened when Malfoy had called him a blood traitor. And what was a mudblood, anyway?

   "Whatever," Malfoy dismissed. "We don't have time for an etiquette lesson, as badly as you obviously need one. We have a House meeting to attend, if you remember." 

   They marched down to the Common Room where the rest of the House already was. First years were seated on the rug in front of one of the fireplaces with older years pulling up chairs and couches behind them. They only had to wait a moment for a professor to walk in--or more accurately swoop in. Harry could remember seeing the man at dinner but that was nothing like seeing the man move. How did you even get robes to billow like that? 

   "For those of you that do not know, I am Professor Snape," the man said. His voice was deep and silky, almost threatening. "I am your Head of House and the Potions Master at Hogwarts. Having been Sorted into Slytherin, I expect you to put forth extra effort in my classes." Pausing, he scanned the room. Harry noticed that the man seemed to avoid where the first years were sitting, never letting his gaze meet theirs. "As in previous years you will all be assigned work groups for study purposes; you must meet at least once a week. Any student failing will be given tutors and have privileges removed until they pass. Slytherin looks after our own, and we cannot show any weakness.

   "We have a larger than normal group of first years. Be sure to help them find their way until they are acquainted with the castle. Outside of this common room you stand united no matter how divided you are within these walls. I repeat:  _Slytherin looks after its own."_ The older students nodded, obviously having heard this before. Harry sat back, a sense of relief filling him. He would not be alone here. Even if they didn't like him they would look after him--and he would do the same. 

   "Curfew for first and second years is at nine. Third and fourth years, nine-thirty. Fifth years and above it is ten p.m. Lights out is at eleven. Do not be caught out after curfew. There are more rules, but as it is nearly ten, you are dismissed. A full list of House rules can be found in your desk. If you have any questions or concerns do not hesitate to approach either myself or a prefect." With that, Snape turned on his heel and left. The first years were a bit shell shocked, sitting there in silence for half a minute as the older years also left.

    "Well, I guess it's time for bed," Hermione said, leaning towards them. "I'll see you tomorrow. Make sure to set an alarm so you don't miss breakfast, I hear we're getting our class schedules then." 

   "Only that girl would be happy about getting our schedules," Ron muttered, watching Hermione walk with the other girls back to the dorm. 

   

* * *

   Harry woke early the next day and got ready quickly. His hair was a complete and utter loss, so no time was spent on that, and putting robes on didn't take that long. He was grateful he had woken so early when Malfoy took  _forever_ in the bathroom. It was ridiculous for an eleven year old boy to spend twenty minutes on his hair. Even though there were several sinks and mirrors the boy took up a ridiculous amount of space. But soon enough they were all ready and headed to breakfast, meeting up with Hermione and the other girls on the way.  

   Breakfast was quiet as Harry tried to master eating with just a knife and Hermione chattered away once again. The two highlights of the meal was the mail delivery and receiving their schedules. Harry received an invitation from Hagrid to come to tea later in the week, which he quickly scribbled a reply to. Professor Snape handed out their schedules and again Harry had the feeling that the man was avoiding looking at the first years--especially Ron, Hermione, and Harry. But it didn't bother him since they got their schedules without any fuss. They had the morning off and then Transfiguration and Charms in the afternoon. After finishing their breakfast, during which Ron ate twice as much as both Hermione and Harry, they decided to explore the castle.

   "The library should be this way," Hermione said, taking lead as they left the Great Hall. "I've heard that there are more books than you can read even if you live for several centuries!" 

   "Can't we go somewhere else?" Ron asked. "We have classes later. Let's go outside!" 

   Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to Harry. "Let's go to the library, Harry. Ron can come if he wants." 

   Pausing, Harry took a second before following her, shooting Ron an apologetic glance. The library was magnificent and completely magical--no bookshelves should be that tall. The two boys managed to drag Hermione away from her rapturous examination of books and found their way to the Owlery. From there they got lost several times, eventually arriving at the Great Hall just as lunch ended. They had to run to the Slytherin Common Room to grab their bags and make it to class on time, helped around the castle by a second year.

   Harry had been looking forward to classes and was sorely disappointed. At a little over an hour long, the classes were too long to pay attention the whole time and too short to nap effectively. Those were the two coping mechanisms he had for developed for school. And both classes were just a basic introduction--course outlines, a little bit of magical theory, some rules and expectations. Just like the first day of every other school year in his life. Hermione took impeccable notes and answered every single question asked; Harry and Ron eventually devolved into playing hangman on a scrap of parchment. If this was how all their classes were going to go it was going to be a long seven years. 

 

* * *

   Harry and Ron had pushed their homework off (who gave homework on the first day back? Really?) and had stayed up playing chess all evening. Harry was abysmal at wizard's chest. He hated seeing the chess pieces getting smashed to bits and tried to keep them all safe. Ron, on the other hand, was a ruthless player who had beat half of the Slytherin common room already. Harry was determined to learn, though, if only to beat Ron once or twice. They had stayed up so late that come morning they were barely functioning, shambling along as Hermione led them to their classes. 

  Luckily their first class was History, which was basically just extended breakfast time. According to Hermione Binns hadn't changed his lectures or tests in several centuries. Not even since he died. And since Slytherin had them all on hand they could use the time to work on something else. Ron and Harry dozed, scribbling notes back and forth, while Hermione checked her copy of the infamous Slytherin History notes and then pulled out books. Somehow she had managed to fit several rather large books on magical theory into her bag and she started plowing through them, taking notes as she went. 

    After History was a free period in which Hermione dragged them to the library, and then lunch. Harry spent time reading several introductory books on wizarding culture--he might not like studying but he was eleven years late to the class so he'd have to get started sometime. And then after lunch it was time for Potions.

    Potions loomed tall in the minds of the first-year Slytherins. Snape was rumored to be both the worst and best teacher in the place. Certainly as one of the youngest Potion Masters in history the man was a genius, you'd certainly learn much from him if you got past the biting remarks and horrible personality. And his general disregard for personal hygiene. Older Slytherins had given the first-years a small primer over lunch, letting them know what would be expected of them as Snape's own house. They had to act better than the Gryffindors, after all.

    All in all, it was a thoroughly cowed group of first-years that entered the dungeon classroom that afternoon. The Gryffindors arrived shortly afterwards and the two groups didn't mix--barely even glanced at each other, actually. Just as they started to relax Snape strode in, the doors closing with a _bang_ behind him.

    "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." Snape began speaking as he walked up through the aisle between desks, dark cloak and robe billowing. Every eye was on the greasy-haired professor. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.." The man trailed off, his expression showing exactly what he thought of those who disregarded the power of his art. "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death--if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." 

 And with that abrupt shift, class began. Snape took roll call, pausing as he reached Harry's name--but said nothing of it, or anything to Harry. Harry was resolved to not bring any attention to himself in any way so this suited him just fine. They were quickly set to work making a basic potion with the instructions on the board.

    Halfway through the class, Hermione just shooed Harry away from the cauldron. He had almost added a wrong ingredient for the fourth time in a row--his nerves were getting to him. Professor Snape had barely glanced at either Harry or Hermione but the man was being downright mean, deducting points left and right for the slightest mistakes.

   Draco laughed slightly behind them, muttering something about "upstart mudbloods" under his breath. Hermione paled, her hands shaking as she added an ingredient to the cauldron. Harry frowned, wanting to turn around and get Malfoy to shut it. Sure, Hermione could be a bit annoying with her facts and her enthusiasm for, well,  _everything_ , but she was nice. There was no call to be rude. 

    "What does that mean?" Harry asked, quietly, as he started cleaning up their work space. "Mudblood, I mean. That's the second time he's said that..."

    "It means," Hermione said, her anger evident even as she tried to keep her voice quiet, "that Malfoy is a pureblood bigot. It's a term for people like me. Muggleborns. Those with dirty blood." Her hands were still shaking but she carefully poured their potion into a vial for grading and then vanished the rest in the cauldron.

    "I'm sorry," Harry murmured. Startled, Hermione looked at him. "For Malfoy, I mean," he stuttered, embarrassed. "He's being a berk."

    "That's not your fault," Hermione responded, smiling slightly at him. "And Malfoy will get what he deserves."

    "Granger, Potter! Stop chatting and _work_ ," Snape called, diverting their attention. They were soon let out, though, so Snape couldn't yell at them any more. The three of them headed back to Slytherin to rest before dinner, artfully dodging past Malfoy and his cronies in the halls. Ron joined them, complaining about the cold in the dungeons and the amount of homework they already had ("I mean  _really,_ twelve inches on one ingredient? The man is starkers) and Harry and Hermione let him complain.

    "You're going to prank him, aren't you?" Harry suddenly said, all the clues clicking in his head. "Malfoy. To make him stop bothering you." 

    "I'm not going to prank him," Hermione said, her grin almost feral. "I'm going to get revenge." She turned and took the stairs up to the girl's dormitory, leaving a stunned Harry and Ron behind. 

    "Cor," Ron breathed, his eyes fixed on where Hermione had gone. "I'd hate to be on her bad side." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snape's speech is verbatim from the book. Anything else recognized is probably as well.


	4. Chapter 4

   Harry soon fell into a routine at Hogwarts. Every morning he rose early and got dressed before Malfoy could take up the whole bath (how such a small boy managed to do that he had no idea, but Malfoy managed somehow). The half-hour or so he generally had before breakfast was spent in the Common Room, finishing up homework and waiting for Hermione and Ron. The three had grown into an unsteady friendship, none of them quite sure what to think of the rest of their House or classmates. As the odd ones out--a Slytherin Weasley, a magically gifted muggleborn, and the just-returned hero--they grouped together for safety. And it worked, generally. The three other Houses got tired of whispering about them and latched on to new gossip. Within Slytherin, though, they were targets--especially Hermione, whose blood status and precociousness drew the ire of all down upon her.

   Meals were quiet affairs. Harry had finally given in after a few days of struggling and taken up Ron's offer to tutor him on proper etiquette, which turned out to be a lot more complicated than he had expected. Anything from the way you unfolded or placed your napkin to which hand you used to pass food had a connotation and a precedence to follow. Harry learned the sheer basics so as not to stick out and just resigned himself to death by embarrassment if he ever had to attend a formal dinner. 

   But not today. It was finally Saturday, and time for tea with Hagrid! Harry had been waiting all week for this break. The giant man was rarely in the castle and Harry was bursting with news and gossip to share with him.

   "Blimey, Harry, calm down," Ron said, not even looking at Harry. "You're making the pieces angry." Ron studied the chess board carefully. He had been doing so for the past five minutes, which was partially why Harry was so wound up.

   "If you would just hurry up and beat me," Harry said, exasperated, "I wouldn't be so jumpy!"

   "Good chess will not be rushed!" Ron exclaimed. "That's practically a crime. Knight to queen's bishop. There, happy?"

   Harry's little chess king crumbled, trapped and alone, and Harry all but sprang from his seat. "Come on, let's go!" Ron laughed and quickly put away the chess set, watching Harry wait a few steps away.

   "Reckon Hermione wants to come?" Ron asked as they left. 

   Harry shrugged. "She's probably in the library again, researching who knows what. We'll bring her next time." Harry looked at Ron, thinking, and then grinned. "Last one in the castle is a sand slug!" He took off like a shot, skidding around the corner.

   "Wha--hey! No fair!" Ron called, starting to chase after Harry. The two boys raced through the hallways and out of the castle, with Harry barely ahead of Ron. They continued their race across the lawn and down to Hagrid's hut, slamming into the giant door one after the other. 

   "'Arry? Is that you?" Hagrid boomed from inside, over the enthusiastic barking of a dog. "Fang! Get down, you silly thing!" The door opened to reveal Hagrid. He had the collar of a very excited boarhound in one hand, practically lifting the dog off the ground. "Good ter see ye, 'Arry! And who's this then?" 

   "Hey Hagrid!" Harry replied, still gasping a bit for air. "This is Ron!"

   "Ron?" Hagrid looked at the red haired boy, and then beamed at them both. "One o'the Weasleys, aren't ya? Well, come in, come in! I just put the kettle on, tea will be ready in a mo."

   Grinning at Ron, Harry followed Hagrid into the house. Ron followed with no hesitation.

* * *

   Severus Snape was concerned.

   The first week back from summer holidays was always hard. Having the new Potter here had made it worse. That the boy would look so much like his father but with his mother's eyes, Lily's eyes, was hard. Having the brat be sorted into Slytherin had defied all logic and nearly made Snape quit on the spot.

   But it wasn't Potter that was making him concerned, no; that prize went to one Hermione Granger.

   By all accounts the girl was the model student. In fact most of her fault lay in being too enthusiastic about learning. And that was where Snape was worried--he'd just had to confiscate yet another book from her that, technically, she shouldn't have. The books weren't from the Restricted Section but did contain spells unfit for the younger students. The books were stored behind layers of protective spells and wards, at least two of which were age-dependent. How young Miss Granger had gotten her hands on them he could only guess at. The girl was bright enough to hide her tracks at the very least. It was a shame she continued to read her contraband books in full view of prefects and teachers. 

   Carefully he placed the book on his desk and then pulled out a clean piece of parchment. It had been almost two years since he had to create anything more than the most cursory of watch lists for his students but Hermione Granger warranted it. He would formally lodge a warning with Albus and pray that the old man could get over the shock of the Sorting long enough to notice. 

   Perhaps he should include Potter and Weasley on the warning as well. Both were hard to get a read on. Neither one spoke much in class and other teachers had reported that they tended to not pay attention. Both boys were from traditionally Light families. And not just Light families but Gryffindor families as well. How they had ended up in Slytherin and friends with the most annoying muggleborn Slytherin in the history of, well, Hogwarts, Snape hadn't the slightest clue. Not even Draco and his fledgling gang caused Snape so many headaches and the three young students had barely done anything!

   Sighing, Snape started to write out the report. It would be better to have it formally logged just in case something went wrong. That way he could point to the  warning and say that he had tried, that the students were under watch. A muggleborn in Slytherin warranted all the watching Snape could manage and then some. Hermione Granger was either going to bring about her own ruination or the end of Slytherin House and Snape didn't particularly want to be caught in the fallout.

* * *

   "And Quirrell is really strange, he stutters and smells like garlic!" Harry said. "Also, his classroom is really dark, and everything smells weird. Not like garlic, though, like something else."

   "Incense," Ron supplied, looking up from the rock cake he was dissecting. They'd discovered that if you broke the cakes up  and soaked them in tea they were actually kind of edible, and the taste was just interesting enough to want more. "The place smells like when we gave a funeral for my one cousin...aunt? I don't know, some distant relative."

   "Now, go easy on Professor Quirrell," Hagrid said, shaking his head. "Dealing with you lot must take quite a bit out o'the man!"

   "I'm not sure he had much in him to begin with," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "The man is scared even _talking_ about things like vampires!"

   "Well, how often do we even have to face a vampire?" Harry asked, shrugging. "Don't you just put a stake in their heart and move on?"

   "Now, vampires are nice people!" Hagrid said. "Lots of vampires won't bother you. They can't help they live off blood like you lot live off food."

   "All right, but, I'm made of blood!" Ron replied. "So that makes me their food!"

   "Don't worry Ron," Harry said. "I'm sure the vampires will take one look at you and decide there's better food elsewhere. Gingers aren't good for their diet."

   "Oh ha, ha," Ron replied. "Vampires don't prey on wizards anyways. Muggles are supposed to be easier targets."

   "I'll make sure to include that in my essay, then," Harry said. "I'll properly quote you and everything."

   "How are the rest o'yer classes goin'?" Hagrid asked. "Got all yer homework done yet?"

   "No," Harry admitted. "But that's just because there's four essays due. All a foot or longer."

   "Hey Hagrid, when's this paper from?" Ron asked, interrupting Hagrid as the man started to reply. Ron was holding a page of the Daily Prophet. The headline proclaimed that there had been a  _Break In At Gringotts! Is the Goblin Bank Truly Safe?_  A picture of several clearly annoyed goblins surrounded by reporters took up nearly half the page.

    "Oh, that's from a few days ago," Hagrid said. "Nothin'ter worry about, but it's got the goblins all worked up."

    "A break in at Gringotts," Harry read, taking the paper from Ron. _"Late last week it was discovered that an attempted break-in had reached the lower levels of the famed Wizarding bank. The vault, number 713, had been emptied earlier that day, and so the would-be thieves escaped empty-handed. What does this mean for the goblin-run bank? Are our vaults truly safe?"_  


  
 "Sounds like a load of rubbish," Ron said. "Probably someone took a wrong turn. Nothing serious." 

  
 Harry wasn't so sure. "Isn't vault 713 the one we went to, Hagrid? For Dumbledore?"

  
 "Now, don't you worry about that," Hagrid said, flustered. "Nothing was stolen. Anything else is between Dumbledore an ol' Nicolas Flamel."

  
"Flamel?" Now, where had Harry heard that name before? Probably something Hermione said.

  
 "I should not have said that," Hagrid mumbled. Of course both Harry and Ron heard him perfectly. It was unlikely the man could speak at anything quieter than a low roar.

  
 "Thanks for the tea, Hagrid," Harry said, smiling up at the big man. "I think we should head back up, though, and get some work done before dinner."

  
 Hagrid smiled back, the grin nearly splitting his face in two. "Take some rock cakes with yeh," he prompted, wrapping some up in a giant handkerchief. "For a snack sometime. And come down again!"

  
 "We will," Ron and Harry promised, gathering up the cakes. They bid farewell to Fang, who was sleeping in the corner, and then started the walk back to the castle.

  
 "Reckon Hermione knows who this Flamel fellow is?" Harry asked as soon as they were a good distance away.

  
 "Probably. I don't think there's anything that girl doesn't know." 

  
 "What do you think was in the vault? It was pretty small." 

  
 Ron shrugged. "I don't know," he eventually said after a moment of consideration.  "Anything worth breaking into Gringotts for has got to be worth a lot, though."

   "Yeah," Harry agreed, thinking of the warning on the entrance. "And to steal from Dumbledore...."

   "I bet Hermione has some idea of what it is," Ron said. 

   "We'll have to ask her. Especially if Dumbledore is involved. Maybe it has something to do with the school."

    The two boys fell silent, trying to come up with an appropriate treasure. Hogwarts was certainly a castle for intrigue and plot and it seemed that they had finally found something other than schoolwork to occupy their time.

   

* * *

    Hermione put her quill down, frowning at the splotches on the parchment. She had to figure out a better system of writing, even her finest cursive wasn't that great when she had a quill in her hand. But it would do. Glancing around, she tapped her parchment with her wand and muttered a quick charm. To anyone else the parchment would appear to be more research on moonstones for Professor Snape's essay. 

    Hermione did have several pieces of parchment concerning moonstones and their various uses. This one, however, held something different. For the past week she had been searching the library for a proper revenge against Malfoy. The boy was horrible. How he managed to get anyone to spend time in his company was beyond her. She was pretty sure even Crabbe and Goyle should be brighter than that. She needed something that wouldn't just get him back for all his snide remarks over the past week but that would make him stop from saying any ever again. No simple curse or hex was going to get the job done. Hermione had methodically gone through all the simple curses, hexes and jinxes and calmly decided that none of them carried the bite that she desired. She didn't just want Draco to stop right now, she wanted to make him never even think about insulting her again.

    The library of Hogwarts was vast. Various librarians had attempted to catalog it and failed, leaving a maze of magical books that was only mapped out in places. If one was just willing to look beyond the most commonly visited shelves, beyond what tame research tomes lay there, they would find the answer to almost anything. Hermione had always been good at finding out what she wanted to know.

    And she was going to make Malfoy regret the very moment he had thought to insult her.

 


	5. Chapter 5

    "Harry, could you hold this for a minute?" Hermione held her bag out. "I just need to run back and grab something real quick." 

    Shrugging, Harry took her bag. "We'll save you a spot," he said, continuing down the path to the Great Hall. Ron nodded sleepily next to him. The red-headed boy wasn't functional until he'd had at least one cup of tea. A plate of eggs and hash helped even more. 

    Hermione didn't take long, sliding into the seat next to Ron just as the boy finished his first serving. She shot them both a grin and then poured herself a cup of tea, practically beaming. 

    "Get what you needed?" Harry asked, wondering at her sudden change of mood. He'd never seen the girl look so happy before. Generally she looked flustered, perhaps a little rushed....but ecstatic? No. 

   "Oh, yes," Hermione replied. "It was exactly where I thought it would be. Tea?"

   Harry considered asking for more details--after all, whatever it was must be good--but settled for a fresh cup of tea. He'd figure out what it was eventually, or Hermione would be too proud of herself to keep it quiet. No need to worry about it. They had double potions with Snape and the Gryffindors today and then Defense with Quirrel, which was always a trial. 

    Several hours later Harry thought that maybe he should have worried about it. Malfoy and Nott were both in the hospital wing for mysterious reasons. Every time someone mentioned that fact within earshot of Hermione the girl looked downright _smug_. Crabbe and Goyle flinched when she walked by and getting those two to notice anything besides Draco and food was impossible. Finally, unable to take it any longer, Harry dragged her into an empty classroom. 

   "What did you do?" he asked. Hermione smiled; a beautiful, satisfied kind of smile. 

   "I made them stop," she said. She was brimming with satisfaction and had been all day.

    "How? Made them stop _what?_ " Harry pressed, although he thought he knew already. Nott was a surprise. The boy was practically a ghost for how much he interacted with the rest of the house, much less the rest of the school. Harry knew that Hermione wouldn't have caught someone by accident, though, so there must be a reason.

    "Insulting me. Malfoy kept running his mouth off, couldn't keep his stupid opinions to himself. So I made him." 

    "By doing what?" Harry asked. Malfoy deserved pretty much anything, Harry figured, especially for how he treated Hermione. The boy was nasty to everyone, including Crabbe and Goyle, who were supposedly his friends. 

   "Nothing permanent," Hermione replied. "Just a few curses. They'll be in the Hospital wing for the rest of the week, and maybe longer, depending on how they act." She paused, still looking smug, and then continued. "It was a type of jelly-legs jinx," she finally said, her pride at her spellcasting making her want to share. "Mixed with a hex that causes facial distortion that can be tied to specific words if you just modify it a bit."

   Harry thought for a moment, watching Hermione's face as he processed the information. The girl showed no sign of remorse and Harry couldn't fault her for it. Finally, he sighed. "If you need help next time, you can come to me if you want." He glanced away, embarrassed. "I don't know as many spells as you or anything, but I can be a lookout or something." 

   "Thank you, Harry," Hermione replied softly. She smiled at him, a small, shy smile, not one of her big smug grins. "Those of us who aren't pureblood should stick together." And with that Hermione swept past him and out into the hall, leaving Harry smiling. They weren't really friends. They were more like allies, born of need and forced company, but it was a start.

 

* * *

 

   "Come on, Harry! We can't be late!" Ron grabbed Harry's cloak and took off, causing other students to jump out of their way. "It's the first flying lesson!" Harry struggled to keep up with the taller boy, not quite seeing what the fuss was about. He liked having his feet on the ground thank you very much. Brooms also didn't seem like the safest way to go flying about on. 

   "Slow down!" Harry called, laughing a bit. Even if Harry wasn't all that excited about flying, Ron was excited enough for both of them. "We have plenty of time. They're not going to start without us." 

    "Yeah, but if we don't get there in time, all the good brooms will be taken! There aren't very many nice ones, Fred and George say. And since first years can't bring their own we're stuck with what the school has." 

   "Do you really believe Fred and George?" Harry asked. He didn't know much about the twins but the general consensus seemed to be that they were always up to no good. Just last week they'd managed to turn the banners in the Great Hall into animated fabric versions of the house totems that yelled and generally made a lot of fuss and noise. 

   "About flying? Definitely. They might be right gits the rest of the time but they don't joke about brooms or Quidditch." Ron looked over his shoulder to smile at Harry. "They're Beaters on Gryffindor's team."

   "What in the world is a beater?" Harry asked. "Sounds dangerous."

   "Naw, Beater's actually one of the less dangerous spots. Seeker and Chaser are more dangerous, since they tend to be bludger magnets." 

   "What in the world is a bludger?" Harry exclaimed. Ron gasped, scandalized. 

   "You don't know Quidditch? But we talk about it at breakfast all the time!" 

   "You mean you and Zabini talk about Quidditch." Harry smiled. "I didn't really pick anything up from listening to you guys talk about Wrong Feints or whatever."

   "Wronski Feint," Ron corrected. "I'll educate you on Quidditch later. After our flying lesson!"  And like that he was off again. Luckily they didn't have too far to go since the Quidditch pitch was close to the castle. Ron and Harry were among the first to arrive and quickly found brooms they liked. Harry stared at the broom, wondering how in the hell it was supposed to lift him. It was a broom, for god's sake. And not even a very nice one. Even the one the Dursley's had was nicer than this old thing...

   "It's a crime first years can't bring brooms," Malfoy drawled, coming to stand near Harry. "These old brooms aren't good for anything but kindling. But that must be what you're used to, eh, Weasley?"

   Ron stiffened, his face going red. "Shut it, Malfoy." 

   Malfoy laughed, making both Harry and Ron flush. "Maybe if you're very good I'll buy a better broom for you, Weasley. It would be a waste of money but, then again, I can afford it." 

   "You apparently can't afford to not be a berk, though," Harry said, angry. "Shove off."

   "Oh, come on, Potter. You can't pretend he's worth anything more than the clothes on his back."

   Harry turned to face Draco and seriously considered punching the other boy. He opened his mouth to say something that, hopefully, was incredibly scathing and would make Malfoy feel like the complete prat he was being, when Madam Hooch arrived with the last of the first years. Harry took a deep breath and decided that Malfoy was not worth detention (also, he hadn't really known what he was going to say). But he would talk to Hermione about how she had got the boy to shut up.

   "Now, I know many of you have flown before," Madam Hooch began. "That does not mean you will fly without a teacher present. Now, left hands over the broom, and say _up!"_  


   " _Up!_ " came the calls from all around. Harry was surprised as the broom practically leapt into his hand with a smack. A few other brooms half-heartedly rose. Malfoy had also managed to summon his broom on the first try as had, surprisingly, Neville Longbottom. The boy was right twitchy in most classes, squeaking and jumping whenever teachers called on him.

   "All right, good try, just keep at it until you've got it!" Madam Hooch called as she walked around. Soon enough all the students had a broom in their hand. The lesson went well until it was time to actually take flight--Longbottom panicked, pushing off crazily. He ascended too fast, panicking more as Hooch yelled at him and the other students laughed. 

   "He's going to fall!" Harry called, his heart in his throat. "He kicked off at an angle--"

   And Longbottom fell.

   He landed with a sickening crunch that silenced the laughter from the other students. Madam Hooch ran over and quickly had him up and following after her. "I'm taking Mr. Longbottom to the Hospital Wing," she said, sweeping past. "If I find that any of you have left the ground in my absence you will not be flying again!" And with that threat she was gone.

   The rest of the class was silent for a moment more before the chatter broke out. Harry looked over at Ron, who looked as sick as Harry felt. Longbottom had broken something and he hadn't even been flying that fast or high. Flying might be fun, but it was dangerous, and Harry wasn't sure it was worth the risk.

   "What's this, then?" Malfoy called. He held something up. "Longbottom's got a Remembrall! Think he'll notice it's missing?" 

   "Oh, leave it alone, Malfoy," Hermione called. "He's got enough to worry about as it is."

   "I should have known you'd defend him," Malfoy replied. "You're not even a true Slytherin and everyone knows it."

   "Shut it, Malfoy," Harry said. "Give me the Remembrall and go find something else to do."

   Malfoy paused and Harry smiled a thin, unpleasant sort of smile. It had taken Harry a couple of weeks to figure out that, in Slytherin house, everything depended on who you were. Ron and Hermione were low on the picking order due to their names and blood status as a blood-traitor and a muggleborn. Harry, on the other hand, could practically do no wrong as both a half-blood from a very prominent family and the Boy-Who-Lived. And Malfoy knew it. Scowling, the blonde boy handed over the Remembrall, muttering something about _Gryffindor sympathizers_  and _house traitors_. Harry ignored him. Malfoy would get what was coming to him.

   Madam Hooch returned shortly afterwards and the flying lesson resumed. After the initial worry, Harry discovered that not only was he a natural at flying, he absolutely _loved_  it. Benefit far outweighed the risk and he would do almost anything to fly again. Hooch promised that any first years could use the school brooms so long as she or another professor was around and Harry immediately made plans to do so. He also started to listen to Ron's long-winded discussions on Quidditch. If he was going to fly, he might as well be as good as he could be, and Quidditch was a way to improve. 

 

* * *

  Soon enough October was coming to a close. Halloween and the accompanying feast loomed large in the student's minds, especially as it fell on a Saturday and a Hogsmeade weekend for the older students. The Slytherin first-years met in their study groups more and more often as the professors just kept piling the assignments on. Only Hermione seemed able to keep up with the coursework and she refused to let people copy off her, although she would look over your paper if you asked nicely. 

   It was during one of these study groups that the discussion turned from schoolwork to Halloween, and from there to traditions.

   "Dumbledore's ignoring all the old traditions," Zabini said, joining them from the other table. "You don't celebrate Hallow's Eve or Samhain with a feast."

   "What do you celebrate it with, then?" Harry asked. 

   "Traditionally? A hunt. Bonfires. Feasts are for saint's days and Yule."

   Hermione nodded in agreement. "Samhain is a good day for ward work, I've read. The hunting of deer or fox is traditional, supposed to signify some sort of ancient blood sacrifice, I think. And supposedly you can call on the ghosts of your ancestors to talk to you, although I'm not sure that's true."

   "It's not," Ron said. "The only way to speak to the dead is Dark magic. Really Dark, the kind you don't come back from."

   "So why," Harry began, "do we celebrate with a feast if there's all these other ways to celebrate?" 

   "The Headmaster is one of those people who love muggles," Zabini said. "And, loving muggles, he replaces a lot of traditions with muggle ones. Like having summer holidays at all, really. Wizards and witches don't work the fields like muggles do, they don't need to go home for the summer to help. Not that I'm complaining on that front." 

   "Or getting rid of some traditional classes," Daphne Greengrass added. She was a quiet girl who tended to fade into the background a bit when the others spoke. "Hogwarts used to have more classes, like ward work and curse breaking. My grandfather says they used to teach fencing as well, so students didn't have to learn at home."

   "Fencing?" Harry asked. "Why fencing?" 

   "Traditional duels take place with a sword and wand," Hermione answered. "Although modern sport dueling circuits have dropped that practice, duels of honor or trials by combat must still occur with both weapons." 

   "Why drop those classes, then? It seems like there's more than enough reason to keep them. They could be like our third-year classes, you only take them if you want them," Harry suggested. "Curse-breaking sounds pretty interesting." 

   "My brother is a Gringott's curse-breaker," Ron said. "He's in Egypt now, working in the pyramids."

   "Like Indiana Jones?" Harry asked. 

   "Who?"

   "Muggle thing," Hermione said, laughing a bit. "But honestly, there's no real reason to drop the classes as far as I can tell. Maybe a lack of funding? I'm sure there's minutes from the Board meetings somewhere if you really want to find out." 

   Nobody really wanted to find out that badly, so the conversation lulled. Finally Harry looked up from his essay _(Thirteen Uses for Levitating Charms)_ and spoke. "What if we held our own Halloween celebration? We could do some of the traditional stuff, and then go eat food or something."

   "That sounds like a good idea," Hermione said after a moment. "The older students will be away, so the castle and grounds will be mostly empty. We could go to the Lake and have a fire, burn some sugar." 

    "Burn sugar?" Ron asked. "Why would we waste sugar like that?"

    "It's more of a Midsummer thing, honestly. But you burn some sugar in the hopes for a sweet year to come." Hermione looked to Blaise for confirmation and he nodded. 

   "Yeah, and we can bring something to charm for a good winter."

   "Hermione, you can do some research, yeah?" Harry asked, getting excited. "Ron and I can figure out some food, probably." 

   "Sure, Harry. We'll make a day of it." 

   The group fell to planning, with Hermione taking notes on a spare piece of parchment. Harry felt excitement growing within him. To keep the traditions his parents must have seemed like a wonderful way to go about his life, and having a fire on a nice October day sounded like fun. To have people around him willing to help him do so was almost baffling.

   Now, if only he could get all his homework done...

 

* * *

   Halloween came quickly, and it found them outside by the lake. They had found a small overhang that hid most of what was going on from the castle. Making a fire on the school grounds _probably_  wasn't against the rules but they didn't particularly want to find out. In the end it was five of them: Blaise, Daphne, Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Hermione had given them notes on what would be expected of them, practically writing an essay on the traditions. Harry knew exactly who to turn to if he ever needed something researched. Ravenclaws didn't have anything on Hermione Granger. 

   "Did you guys get the food?" Hermione asked. Ron and Harry grinned and pulled a basket out from where they had hidden it.

   "Fred and George told me how to get into the kitchens," Ron said. "The house elves practically fell over themselves to get food for us." 

   "House elves?" Hermione asked, eyes narrowing. "I didn't realize Hogwarts had them."

   "Well, they do," Ron said. "And because of that we have food and a few jars of sugar. Do we have everything else?" 

   "Yes," Hermione said impatiently. "As long as everyone brought something to charm?" 

   "Then let's start," Blaise said as everyone nodded. "Granger, you're the oldest, so if you would?"

   Hermione nodded, her hair a mess in the autumn wind, and took a step forward. With a tight grip on her wand she pointed at a stack of firewood and kindling. " _Incendio!"_  The spell was instant, the wood consumed in cheerful orange flames almost instantly. Hermione beamed at how well the spell worked and then stepped back. "Daphne?"

   "Right here," Daphne said, moving to stand in front of Hermione. "Ash and cedar, just as you said." Daphne placed a small woven crown of thin sticks on Hermione's head, and then turned to the others. "Well? You want yours or not?" 

   One by one she crowned them, finally placing her own on top of her golden hair. Harry grinned--they looked exactly like witches and wizards, people who bound their soul to demons for knowledge. If only the Dursleys could see him now. He was sure Vernon would have a heart attack. The next bit had to be done silently, Hermione had said, repeating it often enough that it was drilled into their minds. All Hallow's Eve was a day where spirits ran free, supposedly, and they didn't want to draw their attention. The three boys withdrew their own wands and moved quickly, tracing circles clockwise in the earth around the bonfire. Once the circles were complete Hermione and Daphne added several small runes to them, the sand making a perfect drawing board. As Hermione carefully drew the last rune, Harry could feel the magic settling around them like a warm blanket. He blinked, looking around, noticing that Zabini and Ron seemed to feel it as well. All three boys were shrugging their shoulders as the magic settled. It wasn't unpleasant, Harry thought, not at all.

   "All right, we can talk now," Hermione said, smiling. "You all brought papers to burn?" 

   Since they couldn't go hunting and didn't participate in any sort of harvest, they would burn papers. On them were bits of writing and drawings--anything they wanted, really. It just had to be something they wanted to forget or give up. Harry had, quite carefully and only when he was certain nobody was around, sketched and described the cupboard. He didn't truly believe that burning parchment on a particular day would ever make the memories fade, but he didn't pretend to understand magic. And if it didn't work then he hadn't lost anything. 

   The parchment burned quickly, the words showing up for a moment before being consumed. Finally, after Blaise's thick packet of papers had burned out, they passed around jars of sugar to burn. The sugar made the fire burn strange colors and the smell made them hungry. Since there was no more to do, they fell upon the food Ron and Harry had brought, sitting close to the fire for warmth. 

   "Wonder how the feast's going," Ron said as he rummaged for another sandwich. "Can't be more interesting than this."

   "Definitely not," Blaise agreed. "Feasts are boring. It's basically dinner with extra decorations."

   "Well, we got our celebration out here," Daphne said, smiling. "So let's not worry about what's going on in there. Hermione? Can you tell me again why it had to be ash and cedar?"

   Hermione, it turned out, would be happy to do so, and the conversation turned to the various points of the ritual they had done. They took a brief moment to create their charms, which was done by passing the item to be charmed through the flames several times and 'focusing on the intent'. Harry had brought a Slytherin pin while both Hermione and Daphne had brought bracelets. Blaise and Ron had cufflinks that they wore with their uniforms. They packed up as the sun set, burning the wooden crowns and carefully undoing their circles. They crept back to the castle, falling quiet so that no teachers would catch them out after dark. 

   This would have worked if the castle was not in an uproar. Noise echoed from all around, teachers and students alike hurrying through the hallways from the Great Hall. 

   As soon as they stepped inside Professor Snape was there, scowling even more than normal. The five first years took a glance at him and wilted--there was no doubt that they were in trouble. He glared at them for a moment and then turned, snapping at them to _"Follow!"_ and walked away. They trooped after him in defeat.

    "What," Professor Snape began as his office door snapped shut, "were you doing outside at night? Beyond the simple fact that there is a holiday feast occurring, one which you are expected to attend with the rest of your House, you are required to be inside the castle before dark! Did any of you think for even a moment that perhaps, just _perhaps_ , you should obey the rules set down by the Headmaster and professors? Obviously not, since I find you sneaking back in to the castle!" 

    He stopped for a moment to take a breath and Hermione opened her mouth in an attempt to defend them. Snape glared at her and she snapped her mouth shut with an audible _click!_  

   "Ten points each from Slytherin," he said, "and you will serve detentions each night for a week. Now, return to your dorms. If I find any of you outside again tonight you shall regret it." 

    The five Slytherins shuffled out and back to the dorms under Snape's watchful gaze. As soon as they were inside he strode off, robes flapping. He didn't have time for the poorly planned escapades of first-years, not with an injured leg and a troll in the castle. The third floor corridor and what it held was his responsibility, and he would make sure it was safe. 

   

 

* * *

   "Well," Harry said as they entered the boy's dormitory, "that was horrible." 

   "Could have been worse," Blaise replied calmly. "We could have been caught by McGonagall. She would have taken twenty points each at least." 

   "But we have detentions for a week!" Ron groaned. "At least he didn't ask what we were doing outside." 

   "I'm not sure he really cares what we were doing," Blaise said. "The point is that we got caught. We should have been better than that."

   "Next time we will be," Harry promised. He mentally cursed himself--he should have known to be more careful! Hogwarts had dulled the paranoia of living at the Dursleys, always in fear of someone catching him at something. He wouldn't let it happen again. 

    Blaise and Ron nodded, not a doubt in their minds that there would be a next time. The traditional celebration had been simple, nothing like the grand feast they had missed. But the connection to their magic and their traditions was undeniable. They would do it again, and they would be better at it. 

    It was as they were getting ready for bed that Malfoy finally appeared. He had the air of someone who had undergone quite a bit of stress in the past few hours and set about explaining it to the three other boys without hesitation.

   "Where were you? Never mind that, actually, I'm sure it's boring. Have you heard why the feast was cancelled? There's a _troll_  in the castle!" Here he snorted, an incredibly unrefined noise for him. "Imagine that! I'll have to make sure my father hears about this! Dumbledore says Hogwarts is the safest place in England and yet a troll gets in! Terribly stupid creatures, trolls. I can't imagine what my father will say. I know my mother will want to transfer me to Durmstrang--I almost went there, you know, but it's so terribly _cold_  there. Anyway, you should have been there! Dumbledore ordered everyone to their common rooms even though the troll was in the _dungeons_  and our common room is there too! I think he has forgotten that Slytherins are students, _really_ , it's like he meant to kill us!"

   "But nobody's dead, right?" Harry interrupted, a bit annoyed. Malfoy just kept _talking._ "So he obviously had it under control."

   Malfoy gave Harry a pitying look, the kind that said _oh, honey, your innocence is cute and kind of sad_ , and started up again. "Dumbledore has something under control? Ha, right! I'm sure it was just pure chance that nobody died this time. It's happened _before_ , you know, when Dumbledore was headmaster, that students _died!_ He doesn't _really_ care about anyone but his golden Gryffindors, you know." 

   "Oh, shut it, Malfoy," Ron said. "Go to bed."

   "It's hardly time for bed," Malfoy replied. "Besides, don't you want to hear what everyone is saying?"

   "I think you already said it," Harry said. "I'm going to bed." 

   Malfoy sputtered but before he could form a retort Harry had pulled the curtains around his bed shut, effectively stopping any noise from the outside. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep. Years of little sleep had trained him to take sleep when he could, and he wasn't going to stop on account of any troll or detention with Snape.  He couldn't help but wonder, though. Just what had caused Snape to limp? 

 

* * *

   Draco lay awake in bed for quite some time, the adrenaline from the night not quite worn off. Things at Hogwarts weren't quite going how he thought they would. Oh, sure, he had been sorted into Slytherin, and he was doing well in all his classes. But the letters from home continued to be written in a disappointed manner and he knew, just knew, that his father was not happy with him.

   Most of Draco's failure lay with Harry Potter. The boy was simply frustrating--no matter how Draco tried, Potter just did not want to be friends. Perhaps Draco should stop insulting the Weasel and the mudblood? But no, there was no way that Potter would want to be friends with them over Draco! It just didn't make sense. Draco Malfoy was everything a pureblood Slytherin should be and everyone knew it. Potter and his allies just seemed to ignore that fact, though.  

   Resolving to try and make nice with Potter tomorrow, Draco fell into a dreamless sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ritual is taken almost entirely from midsummer rituals I've attended at various points in my life.   
> Also, decided not to have anyone mention the death of the Potters-it's a touchy subject and Slytherins would assume Harry knew and was mourning for them in his own way instead of making sure he knew the details of his loss.


	6. Chapter 6

   Detention with the Slytherin house head consisted of cleaning cauldrons and preparing ingredients without any magic. Harry and Hermione set to it with no problem; after all, this was rather similar to the chores they had at home. Ron managed, but Daphne and Blaise were completely out of their element. They couldn't figure out how to use a cauldron brush! Overall, though, the two hours of silent work in the potions classroom wasn't that bad. Harry could think of several punishments that would have been much worse, and in fact had woken up from nightmares a few times when he went to bed thinking about it.

    November brought with it the first Quidditch game of the term, which Harry and Ron attended. The weather was cold and crisp but the Quidditch stand had warming charms layered over the seats and some of the other first years had brought hot snacks to share. Gryffindor lost on the snitch catch earning Slytherin first place for both the House and Quidditch cups. How the Gryffindor seeker had managed to even fly was a matter of much discussion. The boy looked like a small mountain, and was obviously uncomfortable to have his feet off the ground. Now, if only Slytherin could keep this going! 

    As the weeks passed Hermione grew even more stressed, studying at every possible moment. Harry and Ron found themselves spending a criminal amount of time in the library with her for moral support. Mostly they played chess--or Ron played chess and Harry did his best to not lose in five minutes or less. He hadn't gotten any better despite how many times he played and even the sight of Harry's face was enough to send the little chess men into depression.

    They explored the library as Hermione studied, finding books on all sorts of things. _How to Growe Eyebrows & Other Curses_ was much more boring than they expected. _Tili Tili Bom_  turned out to be a wizarding horror story that left Ron unable to fall asleep without checking every corner of the room for intruders. But it was an old, faded book simply titled _Spells_ that held their attention. 

   "Think this will work?" Harry asked, opening the door to an unused classroom. "It's kind of dusty."

    "Yeah, there's plenty of stuff in here," Ron said. They quickly shut the door behind them and looked around. 

     "Chocolate frog if you break a desk?" Harry finally suggested. Ron grinned.

     "You're on!" Turning to point his wand at a desk, he stood up straight and shouted. " _Abeatahn!"_  


   Absolutely nothing happened. Both boys frowned, a bit confused. The spell book hadn't really had anything to note about that spell other than its use (breaking) so it was kind of disappointing. Harry thought back to other spells they had learned.

   "Maybe you have to move your wand? Swish and flick or something?" 

   "Do you think it's a swish or a flick?"

    "I don't know, try one and I'll try the other?" 

    Ron nodded and turned around, moving his wand in a lazy arc over the expanse of the room. " _Abeatahn!_ " 

    The room exploded. Bits of desks and chairs went everywhere and the air was, briefly, more dust than air. Harry and Ron made the mistake of breathing in and ended up with a coughing fit. After they managed to start breathing again they looked around the room which was now a mess. Desks and chairs were broken and thrown haphazardly about by the magic.

   "Blimey, that spell really works!" Ron exclaimed, almost giddy. "You've got to try this, Harry." 

    Grinning, Harry mimicked Ron's wand motions on a smaller scale. " _Abeatahn,"_  he said, speaking softly but confidently. A smaller explosion occurred as the desks broke into even smaller pieces and dust once again was sent everywhere. 

    Harry grinned, the rush of magic through his body undeniable. None of the other spells they had learned were like this! Harry felt like he could practically taste the magic it hung so thick around him. And it was different than other magic, heavier somehow, more present in the air. Most spells were a small surge of energy, like a static shock almost. This was in a whole new class.

    "It almost feels Dark," Ron muttered after a bit. "But it's not, it's just... _more._ "

   "Dark?" Harry asked, not quite sure of what that meant. "Magic isn't Dark."

   "Dark spells are more, I don't know," Ron said, his vocabulary failing him. "Messy? Chaotic? Yeah, that's the word. Dark spells are more chaotic than Light spells."

    "Why are they called Dark then?" Harry asked. 

    "I don't really know," Ron said. "Hermione probably does. We can ask her." 

    They stood in silence for a moment, just surveying the wreckage. Finally Harry grinned and turned to Ron. "Come on, I think I have a few Chocolate Frogs in my trunk. I owe you a couple for breaking so many desks."

    Smiling, the two boys returned to Slytherin, momentarily forgetting the spell they had used.

 

* * *

    Albus Dumbledore stared at the instruments on his bookshelves. Two of them did nothing at all, which is exactly what they were supposed to do. But one of them was glowing in an ominous manner. He couldn't really remember the last time it had glowed, it must be over twenty years...

    Someone was using Dark magic in the school. And not just borderline Grey, but truly Dark magic. Was it one of the older students he had under watch? He couldn't imagine it being any of the younger students, although he had been wrong about that before. He'd have to be more attentive at meals, he decided. Someone wielding the Darker magics could cause more mayhem than they thought they would.  He would have to find out who it was and carefully guide them back from the mistakes they were making.

   Albus Dumbledore had seen too many students fall to the lure of Dark magic to let it happen once again. 

 

* * *

 

     "It's after curfew," Hermione suddenly said, sitting up straight. "Professor Snape is going to kill us!"

    "It's after first-year curfew," Ron said, shrugging. "He's the only one who cares, so we just have to not get caught by him."

   "We're in the library," Harry pointed out. "We could just stay here." 

   "No, it's better if we go back," Hermione said, gathering up her books. "We'll just be careful going back and not get caught. We still have a while before he checks the dorms."

   "He checks the dorms?" Harry asked, frowning. "Since when?"

   "Since forever," Hermione shot back. "Didn't you ever notice? He checks in a few hours after curfew to make sure everyone is in bed." 

   "No, I didn't know," Harry said. "That's....kind of strange."

   "He's our Head of House," Hermione said. "He's basically both our parents rolled into one. It's normal for parents to make sure you're still in bed." 

   "Come on, we better get going," Ron interrupted. "We missed study group today."

   Paling, they quickly packed up and left. The library was in the higher floors of the castle to keep classrooms (and therefore stray spells) from messing with the spells and wards placed around the books. They made it down a few floors, using some shortcuts, before they heard what they were dreading: Snape was nearby. Only he had steps that echoed so ominously through the hallways. 

   Panicking, they broke into a run. Harry desperately tried to remember if there were any shortcuts or hiding spots anywhere near by. "This way," he hissed, grabbing a door and flinging it open. They passed through a smaller hallway and then found themselves in a dead end.

   "What now?" Ron asked, trying to keep his voice quiet. They could still hear Snape's footsteps, closer now.

   "In here!" Hermione called, pointing to a door. A quick whispered spell opened the locked door and then they piled in, pulling it closed behind them. There was a bit of shoving and then they quieted down, listening to the footsteps pass them before breathing in relief. 

   "Uh, guys?" Ron said quietly. "I think we should go."

   "He might still be there," Hermione said as she turned to look at him. "We can't...oh."

   "What?" Harry said, finally turning around. As he saw what Ron and Hermione had he took in a deep gulp of air, stopping himself from yelling.

    In front of them stood a giant, three-headed dog, and he did not seem to be happy.

    "Er, good boy," Harry said weakly, reaching behind him for the door handle. "Really, really good boy...where is this handle....don't attack us, please...." Finally his hand found the handle and he flung the door open, causing the trio to practically fall out of the room. They hastily locked the door and then took off down to hallway--and straight into Professor Snape.

   The man practically snarled, grabbing Harry and Ron by the arm. "Follow, Miss Granger!" he snapped, causing Hermione to emit a squeak. He moved down the hallway quickly with the two boys in tow and Hermione trailing like a kicked puppy. Ron and Harry didn't even bother to protest. There was no way they were getting out of blatantly breaking not only Snape's rules but Dumbledore's as well. For as they were dragged by a limping Snape, Harry realized exactly where they were: the forbidden third-floor corridor. 

    "For breaking not only my rules but for the Headmaster's rules as well you will each lose ten points," Snape said as soon as the door to his office was closed. "Would any of you care to explain what you were doing?" 

   Harry glanced to both Ron and Hermione, noticing that neither of them dared look Snape in the face either. The man might avoid looking at them most of the time but he had no trouble yelling at them when they were caught breaking rules. "No, sir," Harry finally said.

   "No? Well," Snape started, pausing to make sure that all three of them were listening. "You will all serve two detentions with me for your indiscretions. Now get yourselves back to the common room, where you _should have been_." 

   As they left Harry couldn't help but wonder if Snape had ever given out so many detentions to someone in his own house. He completely forgot about the three headed dog, at least until Hermione started babbling about having to research what it was and why it might be in the school. Even in the face of death and detention the girl couldn't stop her thoughts from racing about.

   Well, either way that would be a problem for tomorrow, Harry figured. He'd had enough excitement for one night.

   

    


	7. Chapter 7

  "The Cerberus is a magical creature native to Greece," Hermione said, dropping a rather large book on the table. "They're classified as dangerous in captivity, extremely dangerous in the wild, and are a controlled species. They can be controlled by music or strength, or extremely well-aimed stunners."

   "Hello to you too, Hermione," Harry said, looking up from his messy notes. "I'm doing well, thanks for asking."

   She shot him a dirty look and opened the book, causing dust to rise from the cover. "So, how exactly does a controlled species of magical creatures get into Britain, much less a school? The only records of legal Cerburus' in Great Britain are owned as guard dogs, either for a private home or for Gringotts. Nothing in the records points to having one in Hogwarts."

   "Think it has something to do with whatever was in the vault? The one someone tried to rob?" Ron suggested, joining them at the table. The library was pretty empty for a Monday night, but with the holidays so close that wasn't really a surprise. 

   "Flamel and Dumbledore's secret?" Harry thought about it for a moment. "Possibly. The dog is guarding something, isn't it?" 

   "Did neither of you notice the trap door?" Hermione asked, exasperated.  "And what's this about Flamel? Alchemy isn't even taught at Hogwarts anymore, hasn't been for nearly a century." 

   "You know who Flamel is?" 

   "Of course I know who Flamel is, Ron," Hermione said, causing the boy to scowl. "I'm surprised you don't. The only known creator of the Philosopher's Stone is a pretty big deal."

   "Philosopher's Stone?" Harry asked. "Never heard of it." 

   "Have either of you ever looked at a single book in your entire lives?" Hermione exclaimed. "It's like neither of you can read!"

   Harry glanced down at his notes, then at Ron's, which were both a mess of scribbles and ink blots. "Can't really write, either. Care to explain, oh wise one?" 

    "Fine," Hermione shot back, finally sitting down. "So long as you do your next essays on your own." Both boys groaned, worried--Harry was pretty sure the only reason he was doing so well in Potions was because Hermione would help him on the essays. But their curiosity got the better of them, so they agreed. 

    "The Philosopher's Stone is a perfect alchemical conduit," Hermione explained, her voice becoming professional and unemotional. "Created by alchemy, the stone takes a different appearance based upon the creator--although, with only two known creators, one of whom is deceased, it's not quite sure this is true. Anyway, the stone will turn base metals such as iron or bronze into pure gold. It will also produce the Elixir of Life which, if the name wasn't obvious enough, grants eternal life and health so long as one continues to regularly consume the elixir." 

   "Imagine an infinite amount of gold," Ron interrupted, his eyes unfocused as he daydreamed. "I could own my own Quidditch team..."

   "Which leads me to my next point--everyone wants the stone. The process to make it is unknown outside of Flamel's head, and he's not talking. Eternal life and infinite wealth. Who wouldn't be tempted?"

    "But why would you hide something like that in Hogwarts?" Harry asked. "There's four or five hundred students here. You can't keep track of everyone all the time." 

    "Hogwarts is one of the safest magical places in Britain," Ron said. "At least my mum always said so." 

    "The wards have been in place since the first stones were laid in the tenth century," Hermione said. "Every Headmaster layers more on as warding changes and advances. It would take a magical force of an almost impossible magnitude to get past the wards if the Headmaster did not want you in the castle." 

     "You sound like a talking book" Ron muttered. "Hermione, you should read less." 

    Scandalized, Hermione stood back up, grabbing her book. "It's a good thing I do read this much, Ron Weasley! Otherwise you wouldn't know a thing about Cerberus' or Flamel, and you'd be failing half your classes besides!" Scowling, she turned on her heel and left, obviously upset. Ron gaped after her.

    "I was just joking," he mumbled, glancing at Harry. 

    "I don't think she knew that," Harry replied, before turning back to the mess that was his notes. Ron could be a bit harsh and Hermione could be too sensitive, but they were his friends. 

    The boys quit the library soon after, deciding that being pretty much anywhere else was preferable. End of term was approaching and soon the castle would empty for the winter holidays. Harry had received a few invitations to parties and was both flattered and worried. How could he be expected to accept the invitations when he was staying at the castle for the holidays? 

   On the way to the dungeons they ran into Malfoy. He was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle as always and the trio took up nearly the whole hallway. 

   "Move, Malfoy," Ron said, scowling. "You're in our way." 

   "I have something for Potter, Weasley," Draco shot back, matching Ron's scowl. The two seemed to always be at each other's throats. "Potter, my parents wish to invite you to our New Year's Ball. It will be held at Malfoy Manor, as is traditional." Draco reached into his pocket to take out a folded square of parchment, which he offered to Harry.

   Glancing at Ron, Harry accepted the invitation. "Thanks, Malfoy." As soon as Harry had the invitation Draco breezed past, trailing Crabbe and Goyle. Harry stared after him, a bit confused. Malfoy didn't even like him! So why in the world was he inviting Harry to a holiday ball? 

  "Pretentious git," Ron muttered as they started walking again. "You should go to his stupid ball and embarrass him. Turn his hair blue or something."

   "I don't even know why he would invite me," Harry said. "At least Blaise and Daphne talk to me regularly." The other two Slytherins had issued invitations of their own just a few days earlier. Winter was apparently the best time for formal balls and dinners. 

   "You're Harry Potter," Ron said as if that answered every question in the world. "The Malfoy ball has a lot of Ministry high-ups, or so I've heard. My dad never gets invited but the Minister goes." 

   "So he doesn't even want me there except to show off," Harry grumbled. "Maybe I will turn his hair blue." 

   "Or you could do Gryffindor colors!" Ron exclaimed. "Malfoy would hate it, model Slytherin that he is." 

   Laughing, Harry and Ron plotted against Malfoy for the rest of the evening, diligently ignoring any and all homework they had. 

 

* * *

  Finally, winter break was here! Harry was to stay at Hogwarts but, through some stroke of luck, was able to attend a few events that he had been invited to. Malfoy had pulled some strings, (either that or resorted to straight up blackmail), getting Professor Snape to give Harry access to the floo in the Slytherin common room. Hermione had helpfully given Harry a quickly-researched how-to guide before leaving for London and he was pretty sure he could manage it. 

   Ron would be staying at the castle over the break as well. He said that it was to avoid his completely Gryffindor family but Harry didn't quite believe him. He had caught Ron writing back to his family stating that "Harry should have company" and asking for his presents to be delivered Hogwarts. Ron apparently didn't realize that he would quietly dictate what he was writing to himself.

   The castle was quiet with so many students gone and Ron and Harry found themselves with too much time on their hands. They filled the hours with a ridiculous amount of chess and exploring, finding more and more hallways and forgotten rooms. The professors mainly kept to themselves, and there were few other students around, most of whom were older. They made a point to slog through the snow and visit Hagrid as many times as they could stand, getting sick off of over-sweetened tea and rock cakes. 

   Christmas came to Hogwarts quietly, with another snowstorm that left the castle covered in ice and fluff. For the first time in his life Harry awoke to presents--more than he could ever imagine receiving. Gaping at the packages, he looked over at where Ron was still asleep, his bed also covered with packages. 

   There was candy from Daphne and Ron as well as books from Hermione and Blaise. A large package wrapped in brown paper turned out to be from Ron's mother and contained a soft grey sweater, obviously hand knit, trimmed with green and wrapped around homemade treacle tart. Harry buried his fact in the sweater and breathed deep, memorizing the smell of wood smoke and lavender. What would it be like to have been given a sweater such as this each Christmas? To have a mother who knew what colors he liked, how it would fit? Slightly embarrassed, Harry turned to the rest of the packages. Draco Malfoy had for some reason sent along a quill sharpening set and Theodore Nott had given him a nicely bound leather journal. Finally Harry had only one last package, one wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with a blue ribbon. 

   Opening it, there was a small notecard on top of what appeared to be a velvet blanket. _I borrowed this from you father before his passing. I feel it is now time that it is returned. Use it wisely._ Harry frowned at the lack of signature but quickly moved on, pulling the blanket out. Once it was free from the paper he saw that it wasn't a blanket at all but a cloak that clasped in several places over the chest and had a deep, pointed hood. It was rather big and Harry supposed that it must have fit his father much better than it would ever fit an eleven-year old boy. Excited, he rushed to the bathroom to try the cloak on. He even put the hood up, and then stared at the mirror, excited in an almost foolish manner.

   The mirror showed absolutely nothing, which was a bit disconcerting. Harry frowned, wondering if someone had hexed the mirror to stop showing reflections. It was a good idea, maybe it would make Malfoy get ready a bit quicker in the mornings. Sighing, he took the hood off, already faintly nauseated by the smell of mothballs. 

   His head appeared in the mirror, graced with an annoyed expression. Startled, he stared at his floating head before slowly raising the hood of the cloak again. Astonished, he spent the next few minutes playing around with the cloak, making his head, arms, and legs disappear and reappear. Grinning, he dashed back into the dormitory to find Ron awake and opening his own presents.

   "Ron, look at this!" Stopping suddenly, Harry pulled the hood up and made sure the front of the cloak was closed, knowing that none of him would be showing. The thing dragged on the floor and enveloped him completely. 

   "Oh, wicked!" Ron exclaimed. "An invisibility cloak! Those are really rare, you know! Where'd you get it?" 

   "Someone gave it to me for Christmas," Harry replied, dropping the hood again so Ron could see his floating head. "Said it belonged to my dad, but didn't sign with a name." 

   "Lucky break there," Ron said, grinning in that face-splitting way of his. "Gets you out of writing a thank-you note." 

   Harry groaned. "I forgot all about those," he admitted, flopping down on his bed. After a moment he popped back up, too excited to stay in one place for long. "Reckon breakfast is being served?" 

   "Probably," Ron said. "Do you think we need to get dressed?" 

    They decided that they did, in fact, need to change out of their pyjamas and get dressed in at least semi-respectable clothes. They both ended up in the over sized jumpers Ron's mother had sent, almost matching--only Ron's had a 'R' on the front in green. After breakfast they spent the day outside, visiting Hagrid and then holding a grand snowball fight. They returned to the castle soaked through and thoroughly ready for bed, having missed dinner. 

   As Harry lay in his bed he smiled, warm and content. This had been one of the best Christmases ever--the best, really. They had gotten food from the kitchens and made their apologies for not being at dinner, instead holding a small dinner in the common room. Harry had gifts from his friends and from acquaintances throughout the school and someone who was willing to miss Christmas with his own family to see Harry happy.

   Quite honestly, he couldn't imagine a better holiday if he had tried.  


	8. Chapter 8

  The days between Christmas and the New Years party hosted by the Malfoys were busy ones. Ron and Harry quickly took advantage of the invisibility cloak, fitting themselves underneath it and sneaking into the Restricted Section in the library. They also used it for late-night kitchen runs, and pranks on each other, and anything else they could think of. Both boys agreed it would the height of stupidity to just wait for a serious reason to use the cloak. Harry had no problem letting Ron use the cloak whenever he felt like it, although Ron was rather nice about always asking first. They dodged around the staff left in the castle, attending all the meals and talking about classwork or chess or Quidditch when the adults were around. On their own they found books of rituals and dark magic, histories that could not possibly be right and silly books that made you talk in riddles for hours. Madame Pomfrey had already seen too much of them as they had both sprained ankles and wrists exploring hidden passageways and had numerous other bruises.

   Ron tried to give Harry a rundown of what the party would be like. Which only really served to make Harry even more nervous, since there seemed to be too many rules and not any time to learn them in. Finally Ron just gave up, saying that Harry should ask Hermione when she came back and until then just play up the Boy-Who-Lived angle. The party at Daphne Greengrass' house had been an informal affair with her and several of her classmates; they hadn't expected anyone to follow anything but the most basic of manners. Most of the party had been spent playing Exploding Snap or Gobstones. Now, though, Harry had to go face a Ministry ball hosted by the family of the most insufferable prat Harry had ever met. And Harry lived with Dudley, so that was saying something.

   So now he was staring at the fancy dress robes laid out on his bed and trying hard not to break out into a nervous sweat. The robes had been ordered by owl-order, something Ron and Hermione had explained to him, and were entirely too nice for him to be wearing. Made of a dark grey wool, they went over a matching doublet (honestly, such a medieval piece of clothing, couldn't wizards update anything?) and darker green pants. Underneath was a fine linen shirt of pale cream that could be seen at the throat and wrists. The robes were held on with a thin silver chain that clipped on and hung across his chest, the ends carved to look like leaves. Harry had argued relentlessly against the traditional hose and had won but had been stuck with the doublet and robes in return. He had let the house-elves shine his school boots and had made sure to find a clean scarf and winter cloak to wear. 

   Once everything was on he couldn't resist looking at himself in the mirror, his cheeks burning in embarrassment at his vanity. He looked like Malfoy did, for god's sake! Never in his life could he remember wearing such nice (or strange) clothes, and he couldn't even begin to imagine other people seeing him in them. His hair was still an absolute mess that combing had only made worse and his glasses were chunky, plastic, and held together by tape. People would take one look at him and realize that he wasn't meant for nice parties of any kind. He'd be exempted from further invitations, at least, although he might die from embarrassment first.

   "I'm not going," he moaned, coming back into the dormitory. "I look ridiculous. Can't I just write them that I'm sick or something?" 

   "You look fine, mate," Ron replied, obviously annoyed. He had spent most of the day keeping Harry reasonably calm. "And it's too late to back out. You only have to stay until midnight, so only about four hours. You'll be fine."

   "No I won't," Harry grumbled, knowing Ron was right but refusing to give up. "I'll be paraded around all while looking like I should be performing in the school play. And I still don't know how to eat with a knife without cutting myself at least once."

   "Just eat with a fork," Ron said for what felt like the millionth time. "They'll have some about, and you're so high in their good graces you can do no wrong. Now can you please just go? You're going to be late."

   Paling even more, Harry checked the time and then bolted down to the common room where Professor Snape was waiting. After a babbled apology that Snape simply sneered at, they both stepped through the floo, with Harry becoming even more nervous as he stood in the fire. He knew magic could do a lot but convincing his body not to freak out while literally _standing in fire_  was beyond him.

   "Pull yourself together, Mr. Potter," Snape commanded, watching Harry almost fall on his face as he stepped out of the floo. "We'll be leaving just after midnight. And remember that I am considered your guardian while we are away from the castle, so _do not cause any mischief._ " With that the bat-like professor swept away, robes billowing.

   Harry looked around, taking in the manor. White marble floors were softened by the pale walls and myriad of tapestries and carpets. Leaving the room he had arrived in he found himself in what must be the main ballroom. People milled about, most of the men dressed similarly to Harry, although the traditional hose and oddly shaped shoes were more popular. Several men and women wore what looked to be military uniforms made of dark red cloth with pieces of armor around their forearms and over their hearts. Other women were dripping jewels and their dresses and robes were made of fabric so fine Harry couldn't begin to put a name to it.

   The sheer display of wealth and finery in this one room made Harry dizzy. His own clothes were rather sedate in comparison, and Professor Snape stood out in his pure black ensemble. 

   "Potter!" 

    Harry turned to see Malfoy behind him, flanked by a few other students. "You're finally here."

   "Yeah," Harry replied lamely, looking at the other kids. He knew Blaise, and no doubt Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle were around somewhere, but the others were strangers.

   "Potter, may I introduce Valentin Selwyn and Elena Dimov. " Draco said, gesturing to Harry. "Valentin, Elena, this is Harry Potter. They attend Durmstrang Institue on the continent. And you know Blaise." 

   "Pleasure to meet you," Harry said quietly, fumbling for his manners. He had never heard of Durmstrang Institute (except when Draco mentioned it) and was curious to see how the two students acted.

   "The pleasure is ours," Valentin replied. "I must say I did not quite believe Draco when he wrote saying you would be in attendance." 

   "You know I don't lie, Val," Draco said, cheeks flush. "I wouldn't have written it if it wasn't true!" 

   "Oh, shush," Elena said. "You know you exaggerate." Draco turned even redder at her words, the color clashing with his blonde hair and pale green clothes. "Harry, have you seen much of the manor?" 

   "No," Harry replied dumbly, incredibly happy to see someone else poking fun at Draco. The kid needed his head deflated several sizes. "Have you?"

   "No, I haven't," Elena replied in her accented English. "Draco was showing us around when we found you. Care to join?" 

  Harry nodded and the group set off with Draco in the lead. Harry fell in beside Blaise, not quite willing to interrupt whatever friendship the Durmstrang students had. Draco prattled on about various features of the house and Blaise provided a quiet commentary to Harry, making it hard for Harry to keep a straight face. It sounded like Blaise had spent as much time at the manor as Draco had. The house was immense, closer to a palace than a manor. Even with snow covering the grounds Draco could point out several gardens and discuss what plants they held, whether it be flowers or potion ingredients. They eventually looped back to the ballroom, passing through a glass-covered garden and a fencing salle. There were several white peacocks in the garden; one of which started following Harry in a rather threatening manner. Draco's offhand comment about being attacked by one of them when he was younger did nothing to ease Harry's worry and he only relaxed once they were out of there. 

   "There you are, Draco!" came a shrill call as they snuck into the ballroom. "You said you would dance with me and then disappeared for hours!" 

   "I was only gone for half an hour at most, Pansy," Draco protested, turning to look at the girl. "I'll go dance with you now." Scowling, he bowed stiffly to the group he had been leading around and then escorted Pansy onto the dance floor.

   "Er, we don't all have to dance, do we?" Harry asked, trying not to fidget. Dancing hadn't even been discussed in all the etiquette and tradition talks Hermione and Ron had prepared.

   "Don't worry so much, Potter," Blaise replied. "Just say your dancing skills couldn't do the girl justice and decline if anyone asks you." 

   "You would not dance with me?" Elena suddenly said, fluttering her eyelashes at him and looking sad. "But I was so hoping you would."

   "Um, well, uh, you see, I don't really know how to, uh, dance," Harry stuttered, his face suddenly hot. He resolutely looked at the floor and his shoes to avoid staring at Elena in confusion and embarrasment. 

   Laughing, Elena took a step back. "I am just teasing, silly," she said, and Harry looked up to see her smiling face. She didn't seem to mean it in an unkind manner but it still made Harry nervous. "Let's go see if they've put dessert out." 

   "Don't let Elena bother you," Valentin said as they navigated the crowds, "she's a terrible flirt, and only eleven. How my aunt stays sane, I haven't the slightest clue."

   "You're cousins, then?" Blaise asked, saving Harry from replying. Harry was sure his face was still an ungodly shade of red. 

   "Yes, first cousins, our mothers are sisters," Elena said. "And my mother isn't the one to go mad, not with how many letters you get sent home!"

   "Elena! You promised not to tell!" Valentin exclaimed, but the smile on his face betrayed his anger. Elena yelled something at him, then shrieked and ran through the crowd with Valentin pursuing, spouting words in Bulgarian--or perhaps it was Danish, or German. Harry really couldn't tell the languages apart. 

   Blaise and Harry followed at a much more sedate pace, carefully avoiding several adults. Blaise pointed out the Minister of Magic, who Harry was resolute in avoiding, and Draco's father. Lucius Malfoy looked so much like his son that Harry had to wonder if Draco had inherited any features from his mother. 

   "Two hours to go," Blaise said. "Did you bring any games? Snap cards or something?" 

   "No," Harry replied. "Should I have?"

    Blaise shrugged. "It helps, especially with all the Aurors and parents here. They don't like kids running around."

   "Aurors?"

   "Yeah, Aurors. They're the ones in the red battle robes, see? With the armor?" 

   "What do they do?" Harry asked, interest piqued. The robes were rather impressive. He wanted a set, just maybe not in the deep red they had. 

   "Keep the peace," Blaise replied as he grabbed a plate and started stacking sweets onto it. "They catch criminals and investigate underage magic or help the Obliviators when the Statute of Secrecy is broken. And if Britain is ever invaded they're the standing army." 

   Harry watched the red-robed wizards and witches with more interest now. Knowing that they were basically police officers as well as soldiers explained the armor and the strange cut of their robes. The Auror robes fit tight to the body, not opening in front to display the clothing underneath, and only fell to the knees. Various belts and armor pieces kept the robes in place or were used to tie the jacket skirts up and out of the way and most Aurors wore boots that laced tight to the legs. 

   All in all, Harry was suitably impressed and slightly jealous. 

   "Come on, Daphne's around here somewhere, I think she had a book she wanted to show you," Blaise said, interrupting Harry's investigation of the Aurors. Blaise handed a plate to Harry, having at some point realized the other boy was not paying attention to the mountain of desserts before them. "Something about traditions, I believe. Let's go, before we get dragged into a conversation." 

   They eventually found Daphne in a side room off the main ballroom, surrounded by other children of varying ages. They appeared to be the oldest ones in the room. She was, she informed them, babysitting her little sister Astoria. Her sister was only a year younger and obviously annoyed at needing a babysitter.

   "Oh, right, Harry, I found a book for you," Daphne said after they caught up with each other. "It's from my family library so I'll need it back, but I thought you might want to look at it." She dug around in the small bag she had with her and pulled from it a rather large book bound in warm brown leather.

   "What's it about?" Harry asked, carefully taking it from her and opening the book to skim through it. The calligraphy was different from what they used in school and it took him a bit longer to decipher the contents.

   "The Midwinter Ritual, mostly," Daphne said. "It's a bit late to perform one but I thought you would want to know for next year."

   "That entire book is on one ritual?" Blaise asked. "That's a lot of work to go to."

   "The actual ritual seems pretty simple," Daphne said. "But the book goes into different options and the history of the ritual so it's quite long. I didn't read the whole thing, just kind of glanced through." 

    "Thanks, Daphne," Harry said, closing the book. "I'll try to read it before term starts so you can have it back."

   "No rush," Daphne replied, waving her hand lazily. "No one uses most of our library so no one will notice it missing. Anyway, do you two want to play Exploding Snap? One of the kids brought a pack of cards." 

   No sooner had they settled down to play, though, than Draco was back and demanding that they return to the ballroom. As soon as they entered Harry was grabbed by a reporter, a notebook and quill hovering in the air behind him.

   "Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived! Are you friends with the Malfoy heir? Do you begrudge him his family? Even though they were implicated in the past war?" The questions came from a few directions and Harry winced as a flashbulb went off and someone took a picture of him. It was probably a pretty horrid picture. He tried to resist panicking or fainting but there was just so many people and they were all looking at him and whispering or shouting questions and--

   --someone stepped in front of him. After a moment Harry recognized the wall of fabric as belonging to one Severus Snape, dungeon bat and potions master. Snape was saying something that sounded rather angry and mean to the reporters, who persisted in asking questions. Harry took the time to back out of the ballroom and flee to a restroom. He spent several minutes there cursing his situation in life and attempting to stop hyperventilating and not cry. He couldn't be a normal person and he couldn't even be a normal wizard! All he wanted was to go to school and be left in peace. Apparently that was too much to ask for, though.

   Eventually, though, he had to admit that he was hiding in the bathroom. He quickly rinsed his face with cold water, hopefully taking care of any blushes or red eyes he had, and found his way back to the ballroom.

   "My apologies," Draco said, almost immediately appearing at Harry's side. "Father said there wouldn't be any reporters here, but a few always sneak in." 

   "Are they always so..." Harry fumbled for a word, looking around to make sure they were really gone.

   "Aggressive? Yes, they are," Draco replied. "They take their cues from muggle pa--papparitzo, I think it's called."

   "Paparazzi," Harry corrected. "It's paparazzi." 

   "Yeah, those."

   "Draco, please speak better." Lucius Malfoy emerged from the crowd as if alerted to his son's casual words. "Mr. Potter, my sincere apologies for the earlier scene. I hope they have not ruined the rest of the evening?"

   "No, sir," Harry said, avoiding the older Malfoy's eyes. "The party, uh, ball is wonderful, thank you, sir." 

   "I'm glad," Lucius replied. He didn't look happy. "Draco, it is just about midnight." 

   These words were accompanied by a dimming of the lights and everyone falling quiet. Both Draco and his father disappeared in the crowd, leaving Harry to watch in awe from the sidelines. 

    The crowd moved, forming a loose circle around the center of the ballroom. The three Malfoys stood there, wands drawn. Curious, Harry tried to force himself to remember what they did. Hermione would love to hear about this later. First Draco's mother, than Draco, and then Lucius moved to cast a protective circle. Candles were summoned and hovered over certain parts of the circle to work as focal points for the magic, allowing the Malfoys to focus on other things. Lucius stood in the center, flanked by his family, and spoke, his words magically amplified to fill the ballroom.

   " _Anno abiit_  


_Novum pervenit_

_Rogamus eam_

_Misericordiam, et divitiis,_

_Salutem nobis_

_et diligere eos qui nos._

_A vinculis renovationem,_

  
_et a contritione inimicus."_  

  Pausing, most adults in the ballroom raised their wands, the tips glowing and leaving trails of light in the air. They added their voices to Lucius', making the ballroom echo with their words. Despite not being included in the circle Harry could feel the magic building, the plea for a bountiful year being echoed by all those around.

   " _Et stabunt simul_  


_Et petunt hoc anno,_

_Quaeso, sit genus_

_Quos hic inveniet_

_Quaeso, sit genus."_

  As the words faded the three Malfoy's carefully undid their spellwork, the candles disappearing and the circle becoming undone. People around the hallway cheered and some followed the muggle tradition of kissing those they loved. Harry found it hard to breathe, the sudden surge and then absence of magic in the room taking his thoughts and breath with it. It was as he was trying to calm himself that Professor Snape found him.

   "It is time to leave, Potter," Snape said, sounding annoyed and tired.

   Nodding, Harry followed sedately behind the professor, content to let the older man deal with the niceties of farewells and getting through the crowd. They flooed back to the Slytherin common room where Harry softly thanked Snape and quickly went to bed.

  Or, well, he tried.

  "Happy new year!" Ron shouted as soon as Harry opened the door. "I got food from the house elves, and my brothers sent me some candy to share."

   "Happy new year," Harry responded, stifling a yawn. "Did you wait all this time?"

   "Well, no," Ron admitted, his mouth full of cake. "I took a nap, set an alarm and everything. You look tired, mate."

   "Long night," Harry said, and of course after that he had to tell Ron everything that had happened. Ron was especially interested in the ritual the Malfoys had performed, saying that he hadn't heard of any Latin rituals for the new year.

   "Hermione's gonna have a fit when she hears she missed it," Ron said. "She'll make you promise to bring her next year."

   "I can bring people?" Harry said, surprised, as he finished off some treacle tart. "I thought it was a one-person per invitation kind of thing."

   "Nah, you can usually get at least a plus one," Ron said. "Especially with the traditional families. Gotta bring the wife, after all."

   Harry's head was filled with the image of Hermione as his wife and he wrinkled his nose--he was eleven for god's sake! No need to think about stuff like that for a long while. If ever. He had a hard time imaging himself as a husband.

   He threw a pillow at Ron as a way to distract himself and soon the dorm was a mess, covered in feathers and discarded plates. The two boys collapsed, exhausted, on Ron's bed and soon fell asleep.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very bad translation of the Latin (it was a bad translation into Latin to begin with sorry fam):
> 
> "In the past  
>      new arrived  
>      We ask her  
>      Mercy and riches  
>      greeting us  
>     and those who love us.  
>     A prison reform,  
>     and the destruction of the enemy. "
> 
> "And stand together  
>     They ask that this year,  
>     We implore, be kind  
>     To those you find here  
>     We beg, be kind "


	9. Chapter 9

  "Did you two do anything over the break?" Hermione exclaimed. Ron and Harry looked at each other and shrugged, knowing full well that they hadn't done anything. Or, well, nothing school related. Hermione sighed in annoyance, not even needing their answer. _Boys._  "You're lucky I did and that I like you."

   "Aw, Hermione, you like us?" Harry asked, grinning. "I'm blushing."

   "I tolerate you two," she snipped, obviously not amused. "Which amounts to almost the same thing."

   "I can just feel the love," Harry said. "Thanks for the book, by the way." 

   "You're welcome," she replied, allowing him to distract her. "The book you gave me is simply fascinating, where did you find it?"

   "Owl order," he said. "Can you make any sense of it? I flipped through it before I wrapped it, but I couldn't make much out."

   "Oh, after I got the basic Arithmancy they were using down, it all kind of fell together," Hermione replied, obviously pleased at being able to show off a little. "A lot of the charts use math similar to what we do in primary school, although some of it is completely ridiculous." 

   "What was the History paper about, again?" Ron asked, saving Harry from having to think up another question. He hadn't the slightest clue what Arithmancy was, but it sounded impressive. "Which Goblin war is it this time?"

   "The third," Hermione replied. "The essay is supposed to be on the lasting effects of the breaking of the first Treaty of Hogsmeade, although there really weren't any. Goblins and wizards hate each other too much for a treaty to work." 

   They settled down to work on their homework with the manic fear of students who had spent the past few weeks doing absolutely nothing. Hermione filled the boys in on what she had spent her holidays doing (reading, skiing, and visiting family) and the boys told her about the invisibility cloak and their stalled investigation into the Philosopher's Stone. Stalled because it hadn't really started; half an hour in they had been distracted by strange books and then chess. 

    "I don't know why it would be here," Harry said. "It's not like Hogwarts is safer than Gringotts."

    "Depends on who you're hiding it from, I guess. Someone who thinks nothing of goblins might not want to attack a school full of heirs."

    "True," Hermione said. "Hiding something valuable at Hogwarts also makes sense since the wards are so unique. It would take someone with insider knowledge of the school to break in." 

     Harry thought about this, and then turned his mind to who might know--which was a lot of people. Wasn't Hogwarts the only British school around? But the likeliest of subjects..."Wouldn't a teacher know the wards very well?"

    "Probably," Hermione said. "I think they have to help cast new wards every few years, if they're strong enough."

    "So someone who is currently a teacher," Harry said, thinking out loud. He knew Hermione was better at solving puzzles than he was, but he would get there eventually. "Someone like, oh...Professor Snape?"

    "Are you saying that because you suspect him or because he's a cliche villain?" Hermione replied. "He's done nothing but be a mean teacher. Nothing worth being suspicious over, anyway." 

    "He's not a very good professor," Ron said, always ready to take Harry's side. "The man would want to be immortal just to spite everyone else."

    "Come on, Hermione. What do you always say? Simplest answer is usually right? Snape fits the bill, so he's probably the one trying to get the Stone. Now the question is: what do we do about it?"

    Hermione rolled her eyes. "What are we supposed to do about it? We're _first-years_. Professor Snape is an adult, and a Master in potions, and a fully trained wizard!"

    "So?" Harry said, leaning forward. "We have magic, too! We can find counter spells. Better spells. Or, I don't know, buy a gun?"

    "A gun?" Ron asked, frowning. 

    "Muggle weapon," Hermione quickly replied. "And we couldn't, they wouldn't work. Too many wards or spells can make a gun useless, nevermind the magical-mechanical interference."

    "The what?" Harry asked.

    "Magical-mechanical interference. The reason nothing technologically advanced works around Hogwarts? Like digital watches and things? A really old gun like a flintlock might work, but I think newer guns would just....stop working." 

   "Well," Harry said, after taking a moment to absorb that information, "I still say Snape is a suspect."

   "Any other ideas?" Hermione asked, getting annoyed. 

   "Quirrell?" Ron suggested. The other two looked at him, not really sure why he would think Quirrell had anything to do with an evil plot. The man looked like a papercut would end him. Ron blushed and then began to explain. "Well, you see, he's always scurrying around, on the edge of things, not really looking people in the eye. Whenever one of my brothers does that it means they're up to something, so maybe he is?"

   "Alright," Hermione said, accepting his logic. "Quirrell and Snape. We'll try to keep an eye on them, see if anything is off about them, and report it to the Headmaster if so, okay?"

   Both Ron and Harry agreed, so the trio turned back to their homework--or, in Ron and Harry's case, pretended to. 

 

* * *

   The trio took to dawdling in the hallway after class and spending their free time making maps and charts of where the professors were. To make sure no one suspected them, they kept track of a few students (Malfoy was depressingly easy to follow, as were some Hufflepuffs) and a few other teachers. Along the way they had found out several secrets, including where the Hufflepuff common room was and how to get into it. At Hermione's urging they learnt several monitoring spells to place at the doorways of rooms. The charms, originally meant for mothers of wandering children, alerted the caster with a small buzz when the target crossed the doorway. 

   The invisibility cloak helped immensely as they broke curfew to run around and figure out where people were, with Hermione whispering warnings the entire time. They barely fit underneath it together and Harry was glad that they were all rather small. Honestly, listening to Hermione, it was as if they were going to get killed by the castle itself--or worse, expelled. The lack of sleep was starting to get to them but so far the sense of adventure had more than made up for it.

   Harry tried not to laugh as he crept along the hallway, a good dozen paces behind Snape. The invisibility cloak didn't stop people from hearing you, or cats from smelling you. Mrs. Norris had a habit of showing up at the exact worse time. But today he was following Snape around, and Snape's rounds rarely intersected with Filch's. They did, however, intersect with Quirell's. 

   "I-I prefer meeting h-here, rather t-than the F-forest," Quirrell said as he fell into step beside Snape. "M-much more c-convenient, don't you t-think."

   "Convenience isn't the issue," Snape replied, his voice filled with the ever-present anger. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Stone. Do you happen to know why we patrol these halls? _To catch students out of bed_." 

   "Ah, S-severus, I am s-sure t-there is no one about. It's nearly mid-midnight, after all." 

   Snape didn't reply as they turned a corner and Harry hurried to catch up, mentally repeating the conversation so that he could tell Ron and Hermione later. 

   "Have you found a way to get past that beast of Hagrid's?" Snape suddenly asked, his tone making it quite clear that he didn't think Quirell smart enough.

   "I-I am working on a way."

   "Make sure you know where your loyalties lie. We wouldn't want any...mistakes." 

   "I-I am sure t-that I f-follow..."

   " _Be sure_." Snape paused at another intersection and sneered down his nose at Quirrell. "We'll have another little...chat...later. Go about your rounds." And with that the head of Slytherin house left, robes billowing behind him as always. Quirrell stared after him for a moment, his mouth moving as if talking to himself, and then took the opposite fork in the hallway. Harry watched the two of them leave, thoughts heavy with suspicion.

 

* * *

    "I'm telling you it's Snape!" Harry hissed as he buttered some toast. "He's got Quirrell working for him. I _heard_  them."

    "Why would anyone want Quirrell to work for them?" Ron asked. "He might work alone, but he's kind of, well....lame."

    "He's a _professor,_  Ron," Hermione said. "Pass the toast, would you Harry? Anyway, the man was hired to teach Defense. He must know something."

    "He knows how to be weird," Ron muttered. "And he smells like garlic and old person."

    "Just because he's a bit, well, odd, doesn't mean he's not capable." Hermione paused to eat some eggs and toast and pour more pumpkin juice for herself and the boys. "I still don't think it's Snape. He's our Head of House, and trusted by Dumbledore! I don't think he'd do something to put students in danger."

    "Even if it meant immortality and all the gold you could ever want?" Harry asked.

    "Even if what meant immortality?" Malfoy suddenly said, sitting down next to Harry. "Pass the pumpkin juice, please."

    "Nothing that concerns you," Hermione replied as she passed the pitcher. "Harry, did you finish the Transfiguration reading for today?" 

    "Yeah, 'Mione," Harry replied around a mouthful of food, subtly leaning away from Malfoy. "And I'm done with the Potions essay. I'll finish History during, well...History. Don't worry." 

    "You shouldn't finish the essay in the class that it's due!" 

    "It's not like History is hard," Harry complained. "It's fine, I've done it before!"

    "Harry Potter! Your schoolwork is more important than that!"

    "It's all right, Granger, honestly," Malfoy interrupted, using the knife he was eating with to punctuate his words. "History is the easiest class to pass, so if you're going to let any grade slide, it should be that one."

    "I'd think you'd want all the good grades you could afford," Ron grumbled, shoveling more food into his mouth. Harry glanced over to watch Draco respond--he couldn't stop the two from picking at each other, so he might as well enjoy the show. Draco opened his mouth the reply, looking quite sour, and then glanced at Harry--and shut his mouth. Harry shrugged, not entirely unwelcoming to this development. They finished breakfast in comfortable silence.

    "I think we should take the Stone," Hermione whispered as they left. "We could destroy it, or make it safer."

    "We're first years!" Ron protested. "I don't think we can do it." 

    "We don't have to. We just have to wait for someone else to, and then get it from them." Harry met the eyes of his two best friends, seeing the conviction dawning there. "It's Quirrell or Snape. We _know_ we can follow them." 

    Ron looked thoughtful for a moment as they took their seats in Herbology, ready for a boring lecture. Luckily they didn't meet at the greenhouses every day or else there would be no time to study theory. "We'll have to stop following everyone else," he hissed, keeping the tone low as Sprout began to lecture. "Nobody's caught us yet, it's safe enough. And we need to know _exactly_  when one of them goes for it."

    "We'll need a better alert system," Hermione cut in, somehow still taking down immaculate notes. "I'll look into it and let you know."

    Harry nodded slightly. Ron and Hermione would be there with him and he wasn't worried. Anything that happened he was sure the three of them could manage. How could they not? Hermione learned magic like people breathed, and Ron brought in strategy and an innate knowledge of the magical community and culture. And Harry, well...he didn't personally think he brought anything as amazing, but he knew he was just as powerful as the other two, and every person counted. 

    He turned his attention back to the Herbology class, a warm feeling in his chest. He had people who would gladly enter a fight for him. Even if that fight was against a respected professor. What more could he need? 

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty much caught up to where I had written, so updates will be even slower. Luckily there's not too much more to go.


	10. Chapter 10

   It was two weeks into the spring term when Hermione found it. 

   She was returning to the dormitory after a night of following Quirrel on his rounds and was peeking into unused classrooms just to see what they held. The three of them had started keeping a map of the place and any information was helpful. The old classroom was filled with odds and ends and the remnants of study sessions that were at least a year old; everything was as spotless and clean as the rest of the castle. And in the center, where some desks were pushed against each other to form a clearing, was the mirror. Tall enough to fit most adults (although probably not Hagrid) the mirror was framed with intricate metalwork. Along the top were words and symbols covered much of the other metalwork. She took one look at it and then turned around to find Harry and Ron. They all needed to see this. 

   "It's the Mirror of Erised," Hermione said, looking at Ron and Harry. "Not very clever, having the words backwards, but lots of wizards ignore logic."

   "The Mirror of Erised?" Harry echoed, looking at the thing. He could feel the magic it was infused with even from a few feet away.

   "It's a relic," she replied. "Used to be paraded about in high society, but there's more interesting things to do now. It shows you your deepest desire."

   "That's silly," Ron said. "Why would anyone want a mirror that did that?"

   "It's...well, it could be used to learn more about yourself," Hermione said. "If you know your deepest desire, the thing you're most desperate to have, you'd be able to set goals and achieve it. Or some form of it, anyways."

   "What do you see, Mione?" Ron asked. 

   Hermione blushed, looking at her feet. "I'd rather not say," she mumbled. "It's embarrassing." 

   Ron opened his mouth to reply and then looked at Harry, who shrugged and then stepped up to the mirror. Knowing your deepest desire would be interesting if nothing else. He had a few ideas about what it might be. 

   Sure enough, there Harry was, but a better version of himself. His hair was still messy and he still had freckles from being out in the sun too long and his glasses were falling off his face, but there were other things different. He was taller, his frame less thin, his stance more relaxed. The muggle clothes he was wearing fit well and flattered him.  His scar was gone, no longer stretching across his temple. Beside him stood his parents. 

   He took a sharp gasp of breath as he saw them. He'd never seen a picture of them, he realized. Petunia Dursley was good at pretending she didn't have a sister. When he was younger he'd imagined a woman with messy black hair like his, a man taller than his maths teacher and who had the same nose and dark skin as Harry. They would dress nicely, showing off a quiet wealth that wasn't too wealthy but wasn't too poor. And most of all he would belong to them. The images in the mirror were both painfully similar and drastically different.

   Lily Potter placed her hand on his shoulder and for a second he could swear it was real. Seeing them like this he knew, he just knew, that that was how they looked. Everything was familiar from his father's dark skin (he'd got that much right) to Lily's fiery red hair. Harry could see himself in them. They were so young, older than they had been when they died and yet still too young. The three of them filled the mirror, their simple happiness something that Harry had never had a taste of. He sighed and turned back to Ron and Hermione.

   "No surprise there," Harry said, smiling weakly, feeling like he needed to sit down. 

   "They're symbolic as well," Hermione said. "What is shown is one thing, but it means a lot of other things too."

   "You look like hell, mate," Ron said, taking the few steps over to him. "Wonder what I'll see?" And that easily he made Harry feel better. Ron could do that, Harry realized, could make things seem better by his complete refusal to accept that something was wrong. Ron quickly took Harry's place in front of the mirror, giving Harry the time he needed to pull himself back together under Hermione's watchful eye. She didn't question him and he was grateful to be allowed to deal with this on his own.

   By the time Harry felt ready to leave Ron was done, back at their side with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. Hermione led the way out of the room, not even hesitating as she led the boys up to the Astronomy Tower. It was Sunday afternoon and from so far up the entire place looked like a toy with Hogwarts' sprawling mass covered in snow. The warming charms on the tower were a relief as well. The three of them took some time to simply exist, thinking about the mirror and its strange promises.

   "I'm pretty," Hermione finally said. "In the mirror. Pretty, and successful, and renowned. I...people come to me seeking knowledge and wisdom..."

   "You're pretty now," Ron said, shrugging. "And top of the class so successful as well."

   "Not that kind of pretty," Hermione said, almost mournfully. "I don't think anyone's that kind of pretty." 

   "I'm with my parents," Harry said. Something about the tower and the calm winter day made it all right to tell these secrets. "My scar is gone and...we're happy." 

   Hermione turned to him, a sad smile on her face. "Oh, Harry," she said, and it was the first time he'd heard her sound so sad. 

   Ron looked at the two of them and then sighed. "I'm better. Well, not better...different. People don't look at me and see the sixth son, the youngest Weasley. I'm known for my own achievements, things they didn't do first." Ron smiled, looking at Hermione. "Any symbolism in that?"   

   She laughed weakly. "Plenty. A desire to be your own person, unconnected to family or history. Personal achievement over achievement of the whole. Ambition, and the desire to do it first, best." She paused, considering. "Mine probably ties back to blood status...and tales of Merlin, I think. The great mage, the advisor of warriors and kings."

   "The want to belong," Harry muttered. 

   "Exactly," she said. "To be needed, and known, and belong. Strange, how we all want some version of the same thing, isn't it?"

   Harry shrugged, not really sure what she was getting at. They were all first year Slytherins so it wasn't surprising that they'd have the same desires. That was the whole reason for the House system after all: to group kids together based on their dominant traits. Or at least that was how Harry understood it. The three of them stayed up there for a while, not talking any further. Down on the ground a snowball fight was under way as students tried to escape their cabin fever. Hagrid could be seen puttering about the Forest, sometimes disappearing within its depths. It was a beautiful winter day and the trio felt no need to talk further of such heavy subjects. Eventually, though, whatever spell had been cast was broken. Hermione darted off to do homework and the boys decided to join in the snowball fight. They had all the time in the world to worry about such things, for now it was time to have fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one this time. Originally wasn't going to have this scene, but I liked it too much to cut it completely.


	11. Chapter 11

    "You're planning something, Potter," Malfoy said.

    Harry paused in putting his robes on and blinked sleepily at Malfoy. "I what?" he mumbled, still not quite awake. He'd been up half the night following Snape as he patrolled and was running dangerously low on sleep. Combined with exams and end-of-term papers and he didn't think he'd ever been this busy. 

    "You and Weasley and the--and Granger," Malfoy started. "You're planning something. Always running around, whispering in corners. What are you up to?" 

    "Not the most subtle of approaches," Harry said, his mind desperately shaking off weariness to find something to say. "It's none of your concern."  

    "You just admitted it," Malfoy practically crowed, smiling in victory. "I want in." 

    "No."

    "I'll make sure you have detention for the next year if you don't," Malfoy warned. 

    Sighing, Harry tugged his robe the rest of his way on and then turned to fully face the other boy. "Do what you want, Malfoy." And with that, he promptly left the room, trying not to smile at the look on Malfoy's face.

    This wasn't good. If Malfoy had noticed them--Malfoy, with the sneer and the ever-present mirror to preen in--then other people probably had. Snape was much, much more observant than Malfoy. They had made plans in case they were found out, excuses and alibis, but what Harry needed now was to talk to Ron and Hermione. They might have to stop the plan for a while.

    "Malfoy knows," Harry said lowly, finding Hermione alone at the table. It was still early enough that there was plenty of space at the table. "Should we stop?"

    "It's the last week of classes," Hermione replied quietly. They'd learned a while ago that speaking in whispers was more suspicious than just speaking softly. "If nothing happened around Easter or Beltane, it will happen soon. Staff can't stay on the Hogwarts grounds during the summer holidays." 

    "Really? Why not?" Harry asked. They stayed on for every other holiday so it didn't really seem right to send them away for the summer ones. 

     "It's an old tradition that just never got written out of the laws," Hermione replied. "Back before the Statute of Secrecy, a lot of witches and wizards would travel during the summer and help with the farm work or work in castles or manors as a lord's sorcerer."

     "Must have been a long time ago, then," Harry said, shuddering slightly at the thought of doing farm work. The Dursleys were bad enough and Aunt Petunia absolutely refused to have food in their garden--she said it looked common. 

    "It was," Hermione agreed. "Anyway, we only have two more exams to write and then a few days of extra classes before we're going home. We can't stop now."

    Harry thought about it. It was now or never, he supposed, and whatever connections Malfoy had didn't matter as soon as they were at home. They could deal with detention next semester. Future punishment didn't change their mission, Harry decided. Hermione was right, as usual--the rewards outweighed the risks. 

     It was tedious sitting in exams. Hermione had had them studying for ages, color-coding their daily plans and double-checking their notes for them. Harry was grateful for it as he sat in the History exam, his last exam of the year and the second of the day, and realized that he couldn't remember Binns mentioning anything that was on the test. He did, however, remember Hermione's lectures on the subject.

     "Freedom, finally!" Ron exclaimed, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders as they left the room. "Two more days and it's the summer hols!" 

    "Excited, Ron?" Harry asked, smiling at his friend. Ron laughed, reaching to ruffle Harry's mop of hair. 

    "You know it," Ron replied. "I haven't seen Ginny in a year, and my older brother Charlie might be coming home. And, well, everyone else is in Gryffindor, so I don't see them much. It's strange." 

    "How did you two do on the test?" Hermione asked, finally joining them as they exited the castle. "I wasn't sure if I wrote enough for question twelve, there's only so much you can get down in three hours, after all..."

    "I'm sure you did fine, Hermione," Harry said. "Did any of our spells go off?" 

    "Oh, none of them did anything," she replied, still looking a bit flustered. "There's a fourth-year Potions exam, so Professor Snape is overseeing that, and Professor Quirrell has stayed in his office." 

    "Stop talking about work," Ron complained. 

    "What are we supposed to talk about?" Hermione asked. "Quidditch? The season ended over a month ago."

    "We can still talk about it," Ron mumbled, blushing slightly. 

    "Did you read the book on chaser tactics I had out?" Harry asked, derailing Hermione from starting on about the tests again. "There were a few good training drills maybe we could try."

    "The one with brooms up seemed like a good one," Ron said. He and Harry quickly fell into a discussion on different drills they had tried throughout the year on school brooms and new ones they had read about. Both boys hoped to join the team next year as whatever position was available. 

    The Scottish weather had finally decided it was summer-or at the very least spring--and the sun beat down on them, making their school robes just slightly too warm. A breeze from the Forbidden Forest helped cool them off and smelled of green things growing. Harry smiled, watching Ron wave his arms as he explained something, Hermione half-listening to them as she read a book. _This is what happiness feels like_ , he decided, before letting such thoughts disappear in lieu of Quidditch tactics. 

 

* * *

 

    

 Hermione was the one following Quirrell when the man slipped into the forbidden corridor. Rushing, she found Harry and Ron in the common room playing chess. It was long past curfew, even for the oldest students, and she was hidden under the invisibility cloak. 

     "It's Quirrell," she hissed, keeping an eye on the other students around them. "Let's go."  

    Groaning, Harry knocked over his king. "It's useless," he complained. "You always win. I'm going to bed." Ron complained, as always, but they packed away the chess set and headed for the boy's dormitory. Hermione met them at the door and within a few minutes they were off, elbowing each other and stepping on each other's toes. The invisibility cloak was large but didn't really cover all of them well. Somehow, though, they managed to make it past the older students in the common room and out into the halls. They all but ran to the third-floor corridor, not even trying to keep quiet. Quirrel and Filch were on patrol tonight and Filch tended to stay on the upper levels where he could catch more foolhardy Gryffindors. 

   “Dumbledore is out of the castle,” Hermione said, panting as they jogged through the hallways. “Snape and McGonagall are in the teacher’s lounge, and Filch is on the sixth floor.”

   “No time,” Harry said as they skidded around the corner to the forbidden corridor. “We need to stop him.” The adults would just have to live with not being involved. It wasn’t like they trusted Snape, after all, even if McGonagall was probably a good person to go to.

    They eased open the door that held the Cerberus, barely daring to breath. Their fears were unfounded, though, as they realized that the thing was already asleep. A harp playing softly in the corner saw to it that the beast continued to sleep even as the trio snuck past it and down the open trap door. The drop was short and they landed in something soft.

   “Is it just me or is something moving?” Ron asked as they moved around, trying to find the next door or at the very least a light.

    “Something as in— _umf_!” Harry had the breath knocked out of him as something grabbed at his ankle, causing him to fall face first to the ground. Small, thin cords wrapped around him and held him in place. “What the—”

   “Devil’s Snare!” Hermione shouted, her voice almost a yelp. The vines were after her, too, wrapping up her legs and forcing her to a standstill. “It’s very dangerous—no, don’t struggle, it’ll just make it angrier!”

   “Well how the hell are we supposed to get out?” Harry shouted, feeling panic rise. He couldn’t see anything but the various noises coming from around him were not the sort to inspire confidence.

   “I don’t know, I didn’t study it! Sprout said it wouldn’t be on our test!”

   “Think!” Ron bellowed, even as the vines started climbing up his legs. “There was a whole lecture on it, wasn’t there?”

    “It likes the dark, won’t grow anywhere near sunlight, a Spanish lord once kept an entire dungeon of the stuff as a way to dispose of prisoners because—because it dissolves everything, clothes and bones and—and—” Hermione was babbling, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

    “ _Incendio!_ ” Ron shouted, his wand arm the only part of him not restrained by the vines. The fire spread quickly, sparking along the vines as they retreated away from the deadly flames.

   The three were dropped as the plant moved to avoid the fire, falling through what they now realized was a net of the plant to land a few feet down on a stone floor. Harry groaned as he smacked face-first into the ground, and then hurriedly pushed himself up.

   “Hermione, calm down,” he said, taking a few quick steps so that he could grab her hand. “Ron did it, we’re safe, breathe.” Ron joined them, putting an arm around Hermione’s shoulder. The two boys had seen her get worked up over homework and particularly frustrating law books, but nothing this bad.

   Eventually Hermione’s breathing slowed, though she was still a bit shaky from panic. “Sorry,” she mumbled, embarrassed to have lost her head. “We have to keep going.”

   “Right,” Ron said.

   “There’s the door,” Harry said, pointing through the shadows. “Let’s see if we can catch up.” Quirrel couldn’t have too much of a head start on them, although if they had to make their way through these different defenses he would get one.

   The next room was thankfully well-lit, glowing lanterns lining the wall. A soft whisper of noise grew as they wandered across the hall, although there was no notable source. At the other end of the rather large room stood  an impressive wooden door, carved and with a lock that looked like something a Victorian bank would place on its vaults.

   “It’s locked,” Harry said, testing the handle. “Quirrel couldn’t be bothered to leave it unlocked.”

   “Or it automatically relocks itself,” Hermione suggested. “Here, let me try.” She peered at the lock and then began a steady stream of unlocking charms, starting with _alohamora_ and working her way up from there.

    “Um, guys?” Ron called. “I think you need to see this.”

     Harry turned, looking around to find where Ron had wandered off to. He was standing a few feet away, his head tipped up to look at the ceiling. Harry glanced upwards and then gaped, suddenly realizing where the noise was coming from.

   The light glinted off of hundreds of keys that were _flying_ around the ceiling. Someone had charmed wings of all different colors onto the keys and the light would catch in the feathers, too, creating a mesmerizing painting of flashing metals and colors.

   “How are we supposed to get the right key?” Harry asked, tearing his gaze away. “Are there brooms?”

   “Yeah,” Ron said, gesturing. “But how about we try something else first?”

   “Like what?” Hermione asked, stepping away from the door. “None of the unlocked spells I know work.”

   Harry had a sudden idea, the memory of broken wood and dust swirling in the air just like the keys were coming to him. “What if,” he started, looking at Ron, “we broke the door?”

   Ron grinned, his teeth glinting slightly. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

   The two boys stood in front of the door, their wands held ready at their sides. Hermione stood behind them, her own wand raised as if she could protect them from whatever stupid thing they were about to try.

   “On the count of three?” Harry asked, and Ron nodded. “Hermione, count us off?”

   “One, two, three!”

   “ _Abeatahn!”_ The boys bellowed in unison, their wands moving in near-identical slashes, and the door exploded.

    “ _Protego!”_ Hermione shouted, the shield flickering into being a second too late and barely keeping the worst of  the shrapnel at bay. Smaller splinters and chips of stone from the wall made it past her shield, as well as the cloud of dust.

    Once the air had cleared and they had stopped coughing Harry and Ron stared in pride at the damage they had caused. Where the door had stood was now a gaping hole in the wall, surrounded by rubble. The heavy metal lock had survived their destructive spell and lay on the ground, dented but otherwise whole.

   “You two idiots are going to be the death of me!” Hermione shouted. “You’re bloody lucky I practiced shielding spells so that you didn’t get killed by a piece of the wall! Next time you do something so completely stupid I’ll just let you get your heads smashed in!”

    “Blimey, Hermione,” Ron said, gaping at her.

   “Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said, grinning. She huffed at him but stepped past them to enter the next room.

   “Ugh, another troll,” Ron said, groaning. “Halloween was bad enough.”

   “Do they all smell like this?” Harry said, staring at the large lump on the ground. Looked like Quirrel had just killed the thing and left, which was a bit more violent than any of them had really expected.

    “Come on,” Hermione called from the other side of the room. She threw the next door open and strode through as the boys scurried after her, only to come to a halt next to her as they realized the room was pitch black. The ominous _thud_ of the door behind them blocked out any helpful light from the troll’s room.

   For a second they stood still, breathing, and then Harry took a step forward. The room flooded with light, revealing their next obstacle. The entire room was a chess board, with barely a meter along the sides to allow for pieces to rest once removed from the game. They were on the black side.

   “We have to play, don’t we?” Ron said, although he didn’t sound too disappointed.

    “We don’t have time for this,” Hermione hissed, scowling.

    “Ron, could you play?” Harry asked. “You’re the best at chess.”

    “Of course I can play,” Ron said, smiling. Harry couldn’t smile back, though, the large marble chess pieces intimidating him. Neither set had faces for all that they were very human like.

   “I think we have to take their places,” Hermione said, looking at them. “Otherwise there’s no risk.”

    Harry groaned. Just once he’d like there to be no risk involved. And some of those weapons the chess pieces held looked rather deadly.

    “Harry, you can be a bishop, Hermione, take the castle next to him. I’ll take the knight.” The three jumped as the pieces suddenly moved, allowing the students to take their places on the board. They even handed their marble weapons over, giving Harry a rather heavy black staff. Hermione was left with a crossbow and some bolts, and Ron won the jackpot with a horse, a sword, and a large shield.

   “White goes first,” Harry muttered, trying and failing to not be afraid. He was rubbish at chess and even if Ron was good, like scary good, he was still only eleven. One of their teachers or some other highly qualified witch or wizard had enchanted this chess set. There was a very good chance they were going to get hurt.

   A white pawn moved forward two squares, marble creaking unnaturally as it walked, and then fell deathly still once it had reached its destination. The game had begun. Ron called out orders with barely any hesitation, the chess pieces moving wherever he directed. Harry’s nervousness grew as the game progressed. The only sounds were Ron’s orders, the sound of marble moving, and every now and then Harry or Hermione’s footsteps as they moved.

   The first piece they lost was their other knight. The white queen moved quickly, pulling the knight off his horse in a quick motion and then sending her sword through his chest with a loud crash. The knight was then dragged off the board to lie in ruin on the side, the marble horse following sedately behind.

    “Hermione, take the bishop,” Ron said, his voice shaking slightly as he watched the queen return to her new space. Suddenly the game wasn’t just a novel way to play chess. If one of them got hit with a marble sword, well. It would do more than just leave them on the sidelines for the rest of the game. Luckily they weren’t required to smash all the pieces, instead the white pieces that they took would simply walk off the board. Harry wasn’t sure if he could summon he strength to break any of them even if he was armed with a very heavy staff.

   The marble pieces were merciless, leaving their own black pieces in piles on the sidelines. All three of them came close to danger as they moved across the board. Each time Ron moved them out of the way, although Harry knew it wouldn’t last forever. It was why Harry always lost, after all: he defended his players rather than go in for the kill.

   “Harry,” Ron said, calling Harry back from his thoughts. “I’m going to get taken off the board.”

   “What? Ron, no!” Hermione called, turning to look at him. “You can’t get hit!”

    “The queen is going to take me off the board,” Ron said, his voice relatively calm. “Harry, you’re going to checkmate the king after she does so. Same move I used on you two days ago.”

   “Don’t get hit, Ron,” Harry said, his heart racing. “Sacrifice your horse and get off the board.” _Please_ , Harry prayed. _Don’t hit Ron, just take the horse._

    “Ron, you can’t!” Hermione repeated, starting to step towards them.

    “Hermione, stop! Don’t step off your square!” Ron shouted. “Look, it’s chess, you have to make sacrifices. Don’t argue, just do it!” And with that he spurred his horse forward.

    Harry and Hermione watched as the queen stalked towards him just as Ron had said she would. When she reached for him, trying to pull him off the horse, Ron dropped down the other side of his mount to the ground.

   He wasn’t quite quick enough, though, as the queen lunged forward and caught the back of his robes. Ron struggled, swearing a blue streak, and ended up getting backhanded for his efforts. The queen had to drop him in order to hit him, though, and Ron took the chance to lead his horse off the board. He didn’t look so good, Harry realized. Getting hit in the head like that was no small matter. Ron slumped against the wall.

   _Nothing for it_ , Harry thought, and turned back to the game. The sooner they ended this the sooner they could get Ron to the Hospital Wing. Shaking slightly, Harry walked three squares to stand in the winning spot: checkmate.

   The white king moved, reaching past his faceless mask to take his marble crown off. He threw it at Harry’s feet and it skidded across the ground, the marble scraping against the board. Harry picked it up and then ran over to where Ron was leaning against the wall, Hermione close on his heels.

   “Ron, Ron, look at me,” Hermione said, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “How many fingers do you see?”

   “Ummm, Hermione?” Ron groaned, “I don’t feel so good.”

   Harry bit back a panicked laugh. “We’ll get you to Madame Pomfrey soon,” Harry promised. “Look, can you stay here? Stay awake?”

   “I know a charm,” Hermione said, raising her wand. “ _Expergis sopita!”_

   For a second Ron was covered in silvery light, and then it faded. Hermione tucked her wand away, sighing in relief. “It’ll wake him up every time he starts to sleep,” she said. “I use it when I’m studying at night, it’ll work.”

   “Thanks, ‘Mione,” Ron mumbled, his eyes blinking slowly. “Go, you gotta…gotta stop Quirrel.”

   “Here, Ron,” Harry said, pressing the marble crown into Ron’s hand. “You earned it. Stay here, ok?”

    “Yeah, yeah,” Ron said, waving Harry and Hermione off. “Not my first time getting knocked in the head.”

   Hermione and Harry stood and Harry could see that Hermione’s hands were shaking as much as his were. Taking a deep breath he grabbed her hand and then turned, tugging her past the defeated chess men and to the next door. He glanced back at her as he pushed it open, seeing her smile reassuringly at him even as she worried.

   As soon as they were both inside the room a fire started in the doorway, unnatural purple flames blocking their way back. Black flames encased the door in front of them, the small room filled with the crackle of fire. A table sat nestled against the wall and on it was a single piece of parchment and several bottles. Hermione strode over to it, letting go of Harry’s hand, and quickly read what was on the parchment.

   “It’s a logic puzzle,” she said, handing the parchment over sot that Harry could read it.  He couldn’t make heads or tails of it, though, so he put it back on the table and watched as Hermione did her magic.

   Hermione muttered to herself, fingers twitching as she passed her hand over the bottles. Harry tried not to fidget and pressure her, but they were running out of time—Quirrel was ahead of him, and he could have the stone by now. They needed to hurry. The chess game had delayed them too long.

   “Here,” Hermione said, finally grabbing the smallest bottle. “This one goes forward. And this one—”her hand reached out to grab a round green bottle, “—will take us back.”

   “Hermione,” Harry said, grabbing the small bottle. “Go back, get Ron to the Hospital Wing, then see if Dumbledore is back yet. If not—”

   “I’ll get Snape and McGonagall,” Hermione said, smiling sadly at him. “Are you sure? I could wait, the potions have to replenish themselves and I could follow you through?”

   “We need back up,” Harry said. “I can hold him off for a while, but I’m no good at fighting, we didn’t learn to duel.”

    Hermione stared at him, seeing the resolve in his eyes, and sighed. In a way she was relieved. They were first years, for god’s sake! And while Hermione knew a lot of spells, she didn’t think she was cut out for fighting. Her nerves were already shot from adrenaline and they hadn’t really had to do too much yet.

   “It’s not for too long,” Hermione said. “Try not to die, idiot.”

   “Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said, and then he quickly uncorked the bottle and swallowed it. It was like ice, freezing his throat and forming a cold spot in his chest. He placed the bottle back on the table, gave Hermione his best attempt at a brave smile, and then squared his shoulders and walked through the black flames.


	12. Chapter 12

  Quirrell turned around as Harry came to a stop, the black flames still filling the doorway behind him. Harry took a deep breath and made sure to look Quirrell in the eyes. The man wasn’t hunched over like normal, and for the first time Harry was struck with the fact that Professor Quirrell was a wizard who must have some amount of power to him.

   “Harry Potter,” Quirrell said, not sounding surprised to see him. “How good of you to join us.”

   “Us?” Harry said before he could stop himself. But Quirrell was the only one in the room besides Harry, the only other thing in the empty space was a mirror. The Mirror of Erised, Harry realized, which had disappeared shortly after the three of them had found it.

   Quirrell didn’t humor him with a response, instead the professor waved his hand lazily in Harry’s direction. Ropes appeared, wrapping tightly around Harry to stop him from moving. Quirrell gave him a once-over, checking his spellwork, and then turned back to face the Mirror.

   “You’re too nosy to live, Potter,” Quirrell called back. “But first, to solve this puzzle.” He paced around the mirror, muttering softly to himself the whole time.

   For a second Harry thought he heard a second voice replying, but Harry knew he hadn’t spoken, and there was only Quirrell there with him. He struggled against the ropes, cursing himself for being stupid enough to get caught. He’d known that Quirrell was going to be there and he’d still walked in like an idiot. He should’ve just shot off a spell, not stood around and chatted. Finally, though, he managed to fidget enough that he got his hand on his wand. Now, if only he could remember a spell to get rid of the ropes. He’d prefer not to set himself on fire to get free.

   “Potter,” Quirrell said suddenly, whirling around to face him. Harry let out a squeak of surprise and tried not to look guilty. “Yes, come here.” He strode over to where Harry stood bound and then dragged Harry to stand in front of the mirror. Harry was forced to stare at the mirror as Quirrell pulled at his hair, keeping him from looking away.

   “The mirror is the key,” Quirrell said. “What do you see, Potter?”

   “My family,” Harry said without hesitation. “My parents and grandparents, and, and, I’m on the quidditch team, and we’ve won the cup!”

   It was a lie. Harry didn’t know why, but instead of the dream he had been shown before there was just him in the reflection. Him and Quirrell, reflected as if the mirror had no enchantments on it.

   “He’s lying,” a voice said. It wasn’t Quirrell’s and it made something small and animal within Harry scream in terror.

   “Tell me the truth, boy,” Quirrell spat, the hand in Harry’s hair gripping tighter, no doubt pulling hair from his head. “No lying.”

   “It’s the truth!” Harry shouted, even as he stared his own reflection in the eyes. The Harry within the mirror didn’t shout, though, simply smiled and moved his hand off his wand to pat his pocket. And Harry suddenly felt a weight in his pocket that hadn’t been there a moment before and he knew without a doubt that it was the Sorcerer’s Stone.

   “I will speak with him,” the strange voice said again.

   For the first time since entering the room Harry saw Quirrell hesitate, as if he was about to argue with the strange voice. After a moment though he simply let go of Harry, who unbalanced without the support and toppled to the ground. Harry writhed within the ropes, turning to see that Quirrell was removing his turban. Once the faded fabric was gone the professor turned around.

   Harry bit back a scream. Where the back of Quirrell’s head should be was instead a second face, no doubt the source of the strange, terrifying voice. The face was set in a perpetual expression of anger, its strangeness turned even more grotesque by its red eyes and sneering lips.

   “Harry Potter,” it said, and Harry whimpered. “See what I have become? Because of you I no longer have my own body and must share with those who call me lord. Once you hand over that trinket in your pocket, though, I can create a more perfect body than the one you robbed me of.”

   For a second Harry couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. _He knew_. There was no doubt in his mind that the strange face was what remained of Voldemort, who somehow had managed to survive whatever magic had happened all those years ago. In all of their plotting and spying, none of them had thought Voldemort was involved. The dark wizard was dead and what was dead stayed dead.

   It was that which spurred Harry to action: the sheer wrongness of the second face that Quirrell had, the taint upon life that was occurring. _What is dead stays dead_.

   “ _Ceasurai!”_ Harry yelled, moving his wand as much as he could and hoping that the spell worked. The ropes fell away, sliced neatly, and in the next second Harry was up and moving. He’d risk getting burned by the black flames rather than let this abomination have the Stone.

   “No!” Quirrell shouted, and then leapt at Harry. Quirrell tackled him to the ground, pinning him with his weight. Both of his hands went around Harry’s neck, a snarl of anger on his face.

   Harry shouted, his head filled with pain, as Quirrell howled as well. “I cannot hold him!” Quirrell shouted, his voice thick with pain. “Master, I cannot!”

   “Then kill him!” Voldemort shouted.

   Harry squirmed, trying to move, to get free, and in a desperate attempt to win time backhanded Quirrell across the face. The man screamed even as Harry gasped at the flare of pain from his scar. The pieces fell together, then: Quirrell could not stand the touch of Harry’s skin.

   “No!” Harry snarled, anger bubbling up within him. He grabbed Quirrell’s hand, stopping the man from casting any spells, and managed to get his other hand around Quirrell’s throat. “I won’t die at your hand.”

   “Kill him!” came Voldemort’s order, even as Quirrell screamed and writhed in an attempt to get free. Harry held on, gritting his teeth against the pain and praying that Hermione got there soon. He felt Quirrell’s skin _burning_ , the acrid scent filling the air, as his vision started to blur. A sudden wrench of his arm forced him to let go of Quirrell’s wrist and he knew it was over. Darkness crept over his vision and he prayed to whatever gods that might be listening that it had been enough.

 

 

   Harry woke up slowly, relishing the feeling of clean sheets and pajamas against his skin. He'd somehow managed to find the most comfortable way to lie so that he didn't ever want to move again. After a few moments, though, someone near him cleared their throat and he realized he wasn't alone wherever he was.

   Opening his eyes he wasn't met with the blurry green fabric of his own canopy bed or the reddish brown stone of the room he had met Quirrell in. Instead the high ceilings of the hospital wing greeted him and he groaned. Harry most definitely did not want to be there.

   "Ah, I see you are awake."

   Blinking against the light, Harry squinted at the person in the seat next to him. Dumbledore looked strange when Harry didn't have his glasses on, the garish colors he wore somehow worse. Thankfully Dumbledore noticed what was going on and handed Harry his glasses. Harry put them on, blinking as everything came into focus.

   "Headmaster?" Harry said tentatively, not quite sure how much time had passed. Was this what being dead was like?

   "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

   "How...how long have I been here?"

   "Close to a week," Dumbledore replied. "You were magically exhausted, and even the energy of youth takes time to replenish."

   "Oh," Harry said, trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not. "Oh! Quirrell! Did he get the stone? I tried, I passed out, Hermione should have contacted you--"

   "Miss Granger did indeed find me," Dumbledore said, cutting Harry's panicked babbling off. "Lucky for her I had my suspicions about what was going on. I entered the room only moments after Quirrell attacked you, I believe."

   "And Quirrell? Is he--?" Harry couldn't make himself finish the sentence. Dead? Arrested? Gone? He wasn't sure which one would be better.

   "He's gone, my boy," Dumbledore replied. Harry sighed in relief. "A being such as he had become could not stand to be so near you."

   "Why?"

   "Love, my dead boy," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "You know love, and he does not."

   Harry thought about that--he wasn't so sure, himself. Surely his aunt and uncle never showed him love. Hermione and Ron? Perhaps, but he wasn't sure if they were that sort of friends yet. Certainly they could be, especially after their latest adventure. "My parents?"

   "Exactly," Dumbledore replied. "Your parents gave their lives for you, an act of love so strong it protects you to this day."

   The two sat in silence for a moment, Harry trying to wrap his mind around the idea of being so completely loved and wanted. It wasn't something he had ever known since then, so he supposed it was just something he'd have to imagine.

   "While the other students have departed for the summer," Dumbledore started, smiling at Harry. "You were kept behind in order to ensure that there would be no complications from your magical exhaustion. Slytherin, of course, won the House cup, and your late-night adventure was worthy of quite a few last-minute points."

   "Oh, um, thank you," Harry stammered, unsure of himself. Points had been the furthest thing from his mind when the three of them had gone down the trapdoor, and he had practically forgotten he was in the school when he realized what Quirrell had become. If anything he had expected to be punished for breaking what had to be a record amount of rules.

   "Your friends have, of course, left you many get-well gifts," Dumbledore continue, and Harry realized the small table next to his bed had many small bags of candies and a few cards on it. "Take today to rest, and if Madame Pomfrey says you are fit to travel then tomorrow we will see you home."

   "Thank you, sir," Harry repeated dumbly. He'd missed the end-of-year feast! He'd rather wanted to be there. "Are Ron and Hermione all right?"

   "Both are fine. Miss Granger was here almost every minute she could be, and Mr. Weasley was in the bed next to you. Double concussion, if I remember correctly. But both are fine, and are no doubt waiting for you to write them yourself." Dumbledore stood, his joints creaking audibly. "Now, I'm sure you want to eat some of that candy, and I unfortunately have quite a bit of paperwork to catch up. Until next time, my boy." And with that rather abrupt farewell Dumbledore swept out, his robes trailing behind him.

   Harry sat in stunned silence for a few minutes and then started to go through the cards and candy. All of them were from fellow Slytherins, and it seemed like they had made sure everyone got him something, even if it was only a card. He quickly read through Ron and Hermione's cards which updated him on the events of the night (apparently Quirrell was quite thoroughly gone, although nobody quite knew how) and had pooled together to get him a rather large collection of fudge.

   Smiling at Hermione's written admonishment to brush his teeth after eating his candy, Harry tore open the candy and set about absolutely ruining his teeth. He had missed the end of year feast, after all. He deserved to eat his weight in fudge if he so cared.

   The next day Madame Pomfrey declared him fit to travel. Dumbledore gleefully escorted him to the Slytherin common room where Harry's trunk was. Someone had seen to it that his stuff was already neatly packed so he didn't have to waste any time there.

  "Hold on to this, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, handing Harry an old shoe. 

  "Yes?" Harry replied, not quite sure what was going on. They were standing in the entrance hall to Hogwarts, and there really seemed no reason for Dumbledore to hand him a shoe. 

 "It's a portkey," Dumbledore said, which cleared up absolutely none of Harry's confusion. "It will activate in about two minutes, and take you safely to your own doorstep.  

Ah. Some kind of transportation device, then. Harry made sure he was holding the shoe, even if it was kinda gross.  

  “I hope your summer is less eventful than you school year,” Dumbledore said, chuckling. “And I look forward to seeing you return to Hogwart’s halls in the fall.”

   “Thank you, Headmaster,” Harry said. He opened his mouth to say more but at that moment there was a distinct sensation of having a fishhook grab his middle and yank him. The world swirled around him for a moment, a dizzying myriad of color and sound, and then he was spat out onto the porch of Number Four Privet Drive.

   His head unceremoniously smacked into the door, which no doubt would tell the Dursleys that he was home. Harry dropped the old shoe like it was infected and straightened up, wondering that nobody had seen his sudden arrival. 

   Number Four somehow seemed shabbier than he remembered it. Less real, almost, as if Hogwarts was reality and it was the rest of the world that was a figment of his imagination. Well. _At the very least,_ Harry thought, hearing someone thud their way down the stairs and towards the door, _it’s only a few months._

_And they have no idea I can’t do magic outside of school._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of year one!   
> A bit abrupt, I must say, because I kind of rushed through it in the hopes of getting it done earlier. As of right now I only have tentative plans to continue with the second book. While this one was a pretty straightforward rewrite, from the second book onwards it would start becoming truly AU. If I do continue it'll be posted on here as a sequel.  
> Thank you to everyone who gave kudos, comments, followed, or simply read this story, it truly means a lot to me.


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